Hide and Seek
by Energeia
Summary: A neuropsychologist is reborn into a cutthroat world that demands child soldiers to satisfy the quota for war and values people insofar as their talent for killing others. As she is swept up by the wave of a new culture, language, and society, she struggles to cling to the identity and the moral standards of her past life. But most of all she tries not to die. Again.
1. Metempsychosis

In the vein of Silver Queen and Lang Noi, I offer a SI-OC fic of my own. Enjoy!

* * *

Socrates: So it appears that when death comes to a man, the mortal part of him dies, but the immortal part retires at the approach of death and escapes unharmed and indestructible.

-Plato, _The Phaedo_

* * *

 _Chapter One: Metempsychosis_

There was a line of shinobi that went from the top of the Hokage tower to the very bottom, even trailing out into the street. Genin, chuunin, and jounin, men and women, and the young and the old comprised the never ending stream of bodies and each waited impatiently for an audience with the Hokage. Most wanted missions for the money they needed to sustain themselves and their families. A small minority sought missions for the sake of relieving the agitating itch that had settled in upon the war's end. These were young ninja who had lost their loved ones during the war and wandered around Konoha restlessly, looking for and finding nothing to anchor them. And finally, there were the multitudes of single mothers and disabled veterans who had come here as a last resort to beg some kind of welfare or loan from the state.

Begging was strictly frowned upon if you were anyone but a wandering monk. In Konoha, every merit, every ryo, every possession was _earned._ The great clans of Konoha remained great because they adhered to the philosophy that man makes himself. Autonomy and self-sufficiency were sources of pride and one had to have forsaken all attachments like the monks in order to have plausible reason to beg. But these single mothers and disabled veterans couldn't work or even find any jobs that welcomed their deficiencies. They had been denied at the banks, turned away from the overflowing community centers, and had exhausted the minimal support they could receive from their friends and families. This was their last lifeline and it was being tugged out of their hands by others in the same boat.

No one dared to step out of line. A few had tried to replace themselves with bunshin to sneak away and relieve themselves and find food. But they were in the company of ninja. Deception and trickery were their trade and these foolish few had been booted out unceremoniously. The more experienced had brought rations with them and drank from their water bottles sparingly so as to avoid the need to urinate. No one talked and no one complained despite the fact that it was nearing closing hours and that many had been here since the crack of dawn. There was a stifling tension in the building that had everyone on edge and maintained the still silence. They all knew that there was an extreme scarcity of missions and funds to be handed out. So, there was a sea of nervous eyes that flitted around in an attempt to gauge the competition.

As yet another disabled veteran was turned away and left the room dejectedly, Hiruzen took the opportunity to glance out the window behind him. The sun was just starting to set and there was a vibrant aura highlighting the features of the three faces on the Hokage Mountain. His gaze lingered on the face in the middle and for the millionth time, Hiruzen wondered if the Nidaime had been wise in granting the Uchiha exclusive membership in the Military Police. He had butted heads furiously with the Uchiha over these past 5 years in a fruitless attempt to create more job openings in the dwindling market. But the Uchiha clan remained resolute and kept an iron fist on the proceedings of the Military Police.

Another set of footsteps tapped forward and still another person emerged from that inexhaustible line. Hiruzen turned away from the window to face his next visitor. This one was missing an arm and pleaded his case with a well-practiced elocution. But Hiruzen was already mentally dismissing the man even before he ended his speech with an admirable ethos. There was simply nothing Hiruzen could do, even as the Hokage. Few realized that he was subject to the whims of the Daimyo and that he bore the heavy responsibility of governing the entire village of Konoha. The villagers might have known the duties of the Hokage, but they didn't understand what was required to keep the village running. He couldn't simply make allowances for every individual, no matter how compelling their stories were. So many veterans had returned from the war to find no jobs, no prospects, no families and friends. But he could do nothing for them, short of waging another war and that was to be avoided at all possible cost. If that cost was the neglect of the large population of disabled veterans, then so be it. It was for the greater good.

Off in the distance, the bells in the clock tower finally tolled, signaling the end of another harrowing day. The next person in line grimaced and clenched his teeth painfully. But, he would only hurt his case in throwing a fit. Obediently, the people in the line turned around in a synchronized movement and began to exit the Hokage Tower.

Tomorrow, they would be back at the crack of dawn.

* * *

Akira swallowed down a decidedly un-masculine whimper as his wife did her best to pulverize all the bones in his right hand when the next contraction came. With his free hand, he slid her sweaty hair out of her face to distract himself from looking down at all the… interesting things that were happening down below. He had made the mistake of looking down a few hours ago when the doctor had made a distressed tutting noise, and then made the further mistake of grimacing when he saw firsthand the various bodily products that accompany the miracle of childbirth. Kotone hadn't taken too kindly to his expression and had sworn on her mother's grave that she would remove his loins from his person once their fruit had been expelled from her own body. At this rate, his daughter would just have to grow up with a one-armed eunuch as a father.

But, he was glad that Kotone was putting up such a fight—even if it seemed her beef was entirely with him. They had been in the hospital for about 20 hours now with nothing to show for it but a few crushed bones. He wasn't comforted in the slightest by the fact that there were many other prospective fathers in the same predicament throughout the maternity ward. Most were mainly ushered to a waiting room and he was one of the few who had accompanied their wives during labor. This wasn't because he was particularly brave or resilient to the kind of horrors he witnessed. No, quite the contrary. He was there because Kotone was a very special kind of woman who refused to pussyfoot around simply because some crotchety elders had declared a man's presence in childbirth improper. In a manner of speaking, she didn't give a shit and had bullied him into coming with her into the delivery room. She was a kunoichi and from what he understood, she was around mid-rank. At times (honestly, most of the time), he was terrified of his wife's ninja abilities and he shuddered to think of what more powerful kunoichi like Tsunade-sama could do to a man's bones during childbirth.

Civilians weren't often privy to the happenings of their fellow shinobi citizens, but some things inevitably trickled down into the civilian rumor mill—such as rumors of Tsunade-sama's monstrous strength. These juicy tidbits were savored and hoarded by inquisitive civilians, most of whom reserved a fearful but exasperated attitude towards those powerful men and women who admittedly kept them safe but terrorized their rooftops. The civilian gossip mill was fueled by civilians clueless about the finer details of chakra and the shinobi lifestyle and their overzealous imaginations turned even the slightest of whispers into poems and novels. For a figure as famed and remarkable as Tsunade-sama (whose figure was indeed remarkable in _many_ ways), there were entire sagas written and epithets galore, as it was rumored that she could cause natural disasters with a flick of a finger and heal from any wound, no matter how severe. Her anger was legendary in its own right. From these, it could easily be inferred that a Tsunade-sama in labor could probably erase a man from existence entirely and reduce all of Konoha to subatomic particles in the process.

So while he knew that men were stationed in a waiting area more for propriety's sake, he couldn't help but think that part of the reason was to ensure the man's bodily integrity. And when he took a few trips to the bathroom and went outside to smoke, he enviously regarded the physically uninjured men who had avoided his fate. He actually made a few acquaintances out of other uneasy men who bummed cigarettes off of him. But it was clear that they wouldn't escape completely unscathed; there were clear signs of psychological damage. There were some who put on flamboyant airs of machismo, and still others who pretended that they were above it all. But none was immune to the palpable anxiety permeating through the air.

He whipped his head towards the door just as the doctor ploughed through. She examined Kotone unflinchingly despite all the horrors that had accumulated on the birthing table and nodded to herself smartly before glancing up and barking out tersely, "She's crowning! Just a little more!"

This inspired another bout of bone-crushing strength from Kotone as she _screamed_. And then finally, the nurse was fussing over this tiny pink thing and the doctor was motioning Akira over with impatient head jerks. Akira hesitantly stepped away from Kotone, who had relented her grip on his hand, and grabbed the scissors the doctor pointed to. This time, he swallowed down a wave of nausea as he cut the cord connected to the slimy pink rat. The doctor inspected it briefly before instructing the midwife to submerge it in a tub of water and wash off the slime. Akira retreated to Kotone's side and smoothed her stress lines away with the pad of his thumb. He kissed her forehead and concentrated on the strong throbbing in her temple to reassure himself that she was still there. Distantly, he heard the doctor instructing Kotone to give a last few pushes for the placenta and he decided that he'd content himself with _not looking_.

The doctor and nurse continued to fuss over the newborn infant, subjecting it to the cold scrutiny of steel instruments. Then Kotone was pushing him aside with that startling strength of hers to accept the bundle of rat from the midwife.

"Here she is", the doctor said. "She's a fine girl-7.93 pounds and 20.12 inches, very healthy."

He mumbled some vague expression of thanks to the doctor, who left as abruptly as she had entered, before turning curiously to the fruit of his loins. Suddenly, he felt all the tension abate from his shoulders and started to coo at _his daughter_ before he noticed Kotone's strange expression.

"What is it?" he asked timidly.

His wife eyed their newborn daughter suspiciously. "She's not screaming. Isn't she supposed to cry or something?"

Kotone spoke too soon and would later deeply regret her words as their daughter opened her eyes with startling focus, looked around, and _screamed_.

And kept screaming, screaming, screaming as if the world had dealt her some permanent grievance in simply being there. She refused her mother's breast and any other condolences offered. The newest addition to their family had taken a long time coming and it seemed she maintained her singlehanded determination to keep testing their patience.

They named her Nezumi— _Rat_. Kotone didn't require much persuading after 48 hours of nonstop torture even though it was nowhere near their list of potential baby names.

After her initial crying bout, Nezumi remained quiet and serious much to the consternation of Akira and Kotone. She kept her unnervingly focused stare and constantly regarded her environment with the utmost suspicion. They did their best reorient their baby's focus so that she could latch on to Kotone and start feeding, but she refused with a peculiar obstinacy. They couldn't have known that their new daughter was in fact, an adult woman who was currently undergoing the first of the five stages of loss—denial.

* * *

Overall, she was quite put out by the hallucinations conjured up by her subconscious. As far as she knew, she had woken up in a hospital with a strange lack of ability to move or speak. When she opened her eyes, she was immediately overwhelmed and disoriented by the sheer influx of sense data. That was probably to be expected. After all, she had just spent an indeterminate amount of time unconscious, presumably in a coma. But when she had acclimated a bit, she noticed how poor her vision had become. Moreover, it seemed that her muscles had atrophied away into nothing. Her body felt boneless and her tongue was stiff and unyielding. Her five senses were just as useless as the rest of her body. And on top of that, she felt like she had accidentally stepped into Willy Wonka's shrinking television because she felt so _tiny_. She couldn't quite grasp or identify the objects in her visual field, and she could only see large shapes looming over her as she was manhandled and passed from place to place. She was currently diagnosing herself with an acute case of body dysmorphia and trauma-induced mutism.

Her only mode of communication was screaming and so she tried her best to convey her discomfort and growing panic at her situation. No one took the hint and noticed that something was out of the ordinary. She screamed and screamed as her claustrophobia overcame her. She screamed and screamed because she didn't have the finer motor skills necessary to form the words "Help me! Save me!" She screamed and screamed hoping that someone or something would finally take notice that she was a prisoner in her own body. No one came to save her.


	2. The Lost and Found

AN: Development will be slow. These next few chapters in particular will deal more generally with post-war Konoha and life in the village. Let me know what you think!

* * *

 _Chapter Two: The Lost and Found_

There was a strange transition period between sleeping and waking. It felt like forever and it felt like no time at all. She drifted peacefully towards consciousness, fuzzy blurs of color and shape appearing in her periphery. Before she knew it, she was absentmindedly regarding the space in front of her. It felt hazy and she was soon on the verge of falling back asleep. Then there was a strange tingling sensation like she was being watched. Her eyes were open again.

She was wide awake now and she felt her heartbeat start to rise and beat furiously as that strange tingling sensation didn't abate. There was something out there and it was watching her. The tingling grew and thickened into an ill tension that bore down upon her, a malevolent atmosphere that pinned her in place like an animal to be sacrificed. Something like a door opened in the vague horizon and a dark shape slithered through. It crept closer and closer to her. As it drew nearer, it grew more and more substantial, manifesting as a ghostly woman with long black hair. She could only watch in terror— _why couldn't she move!—_ her mind screaming at her body to move move move away from that thing. Her mind pressed frantically against the confines of her body. But to no avail, her body was completely paralyzed and deaf to her will. Her heart leapt up and caught in her throat. The thing overcame her and pressed into her and was choking her and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't even look away from the pure malevolence that was smothering her. She tried to scream for help but only an empty noise escaped from the mouth that the demon was crushing.

Just when exactly was she supposed to wake up from this bloody nightmare?

* * *

Akira, Kotone, and little Nezumi spent two days recovering in the hospital, as per the general health insurance allotted to female chunin for which Akira was deeply grateful. Kotone, on the other hand, wasn't all too impressed. To the detriment of about a third of the ninja population, paid maternity leave wasn't on the books and it didn't look like Konoha's policymakers would make the push any time soon. What would all the new mothers in this latest baby boom do to support themselves? Well, hopefully they had clan backing or a male partner of some financial means, preferably a ninja ranked chunin or above. A lone genin couldn't possibly provide for a fledgling family.

Kunoichi, for all their contributions to society, were perpetually assigned the supplementary role—whether they "chose" to be medics, genjutsu support, teachers at the academy, or part of the intelligence or administrative divisions. Who among Konoha's leaders paid any attention to these honorable women who worked in the shadows, even more so than their male counterparts? There was a grand total of two women in the Konoha Council: Sarutobi Biwako and Utatane Koharu. Their number had decreased by one with the recent death of Uzumaki Mito. For the most part, these two remained tucked away in the ivory tower of government where they watched the village from afar. They hadn't witnessed firsthand, the way women had stepped in to take up the arms left behind by the men dying on the battlefield in this last war. They hadn't seen the extraordinary feats of bravery these kunoichi had performed as they paved the way for the heavy-hitting male ninja through their supporting abilities.

On one hand, Biwako-sama, a proud medic, remained in the fixed mentality that the woman's place was in the home—that she was first and foremost a mother, entrusted with the prodigious and noble task of bearing and raising the next generation of ninjas. This might have prompted her to push for maternity leave if she hadn't been married to the Sarutobi Hiruzen who was not only the Hokage, but also the head of a prestigious clan. So, to say the least, she was far removed from the working-class kunoichi who desperately needed both time and money to comfortably raise a child.

On the other hand, Koharu-sama was by and large a pragmatist, declaring that Konoha, as a hidden village, should devote its resources to its shinobi taskforce rather than frivolous expenditures such as maternity leave. Especially when one considered the costs of the last war and the reconstruction taking place, the allowance of maternity leave seemed a little silly and would simply have to take a place on the back burner for now. After all, new mothers were still quite functional. Those in a tight pinch would have to live frugally, take out a few loans, and perhaps take up multiple jobs.

Kotone was one of the many new mothers and she would need to return to work as soon as possible in order to retain her healthcare plan. She was in a strange and unfortunate position as a kunoichi partnered to a civilian. Unions between shinobi and civilians weren't looked upon too favorably and both parties generally kept to themselves. The difference in power was just too great. It seemed that civilians weren't all too fond of forging close relationships with trained killers who could lash out and accidentally kill a man for breathing wrong. A civilian who made the leap of faith and befriended a shinobi found that it was difficult to maintain that relationship since that shinobi could simply be deployed or killed, leaving the civilian none the wiser about their current relationship status. And on the shinobi's side, it was known that children born of these unions were often born with low chakra levels undesirable to those who wanted to be ninja. In rare cases, the fetus conceived by a male civilian and a female ninja possessing potent chakra would be killed in the womb, considered by the mother's chakra to be an invasive parasite in need of purging. In even rarer cases, the fetus would continue to grow and develop in spite of the chakra attempting to kill it in utero, but as a horribly deformed baby that would die shortly after birth. This was why some of Konoha's clans had a habit of inbreeding-so that the particular mutation forming their bloodlines would be preserved and so their children would be born with stable chakra coils and a plentiful amount of base chakra cultivated through years of scrupulous eugenics. It was a combination of logic and fear that kept civilians and shinobi in their respective social circles.

Kotone was a chunin who had a talent for finding and disabling traps. Akira was a librarian. How and why had they come together? Their romance hadn't really been all that romantic and they found that their story frequently bored listeners who wanted to hear sweeping, dramatic tales of forbidden love. She'd been a frequent visitor at the library because she was a bit of a history nut and was comforted by the smell of old books. Her spare time was better spent there than at the home haunted by her dead parents. He'd admired her long, black hair that was so striking against her pale skin and liked her direct personality and she'd been flattered by the attention and liked his unassuming friendliness. Perhaps they had married in the spirit of passionate love that had swept through the country. But for better or worse, they got along pretty well. And she hadn't been in any trouble of unwittingly committing infanticide via overzealous chakra. Her chakra levels were far too low for that to happen. Their troubles resided in the realm of finances. Akira was a librarian-his career wasn't well-respected or well-paid in such a military state. Kotone wasn't eligible to receive civilian maternity leave and she would return to active duty all out of shape and vying for the limited positions stationed in the premises of Konoha with legions of veterans.

New mothers aside, those veterans who had sustained debilitating injuries during the war were in a far worse position. Many shinobi came from the frontlines deaf, blind, mentally ill, missing limbs; an unlucky minority had a combination of these deficits. And, there was a far greater number of disabled shinobi returning home alive then there had been during the First War. Towards the tail end of this recent war, Konoha's leadership had implemented a mandate requiring medic-nin on all outgoing squads. This raised the survival rate, even if it meant that a ninja survived with a life-long disability.

Ninjas were tools. Like any tool, once a ninja was permanently damaged, it was cast aside indifferently and replaced. So, despite the vast numbers making up this specific demographic, disabled ninja were unduly neglected. For one thing, even if they wanted to work, they couldn't pass the physical exam which was one firm requirement for all ninja on active duty. And without active duty status, they weren't fit to receive health care benefits from the village. They had the option of taking up positions in the civilian sector, but this was undesirable for they had no work experience in the pertinent areas and really had no chance of competing with other more experienced civilians for these positions. It was a sad reality that abandoned with no job prospects, no healthcare to cover the considerable costs of therapy and treatment, and discarded by the very home they had fought for, most disabled veterans left Konoha to settle in small, rural villages spread throughout the Land of Fire to live out the rest of their lives in shame. Some committed suicide, seeing no way out.

But still, it was quite a remarkable thing in the world of shinobi for there to be an institutionalized healthcare system. Konoha had the premier healthcare system of all the shinobi nations. And by that, it was understood that Konoha had the _only_ such healthcare system in all the shinobi nations. This was all due to Tsunade of the Sannin and Kato Dan.

Their efforts had resulted in a revolution in the world of medicine, the most obvious change being the mandated inclusion of medic-nin on all outgoing squads. But the biggest and perhaps most important change had been the imperative taken up by Konoha's leadership after the war ended, perhaps in honor of the once highly favored Hokage candidate. In the name of healthcare, Konoha was building a section in the Research and Development department that focused on village-sponsored prescription and over-the-counter medication for ninjas, and a laboratory dedicated to poison and antidote research. Birth-control techniques for both females and males were being standardized for recreational use. They were pushing for the establishing first aid as a required course at the Academy. Physical and psychiatric evaluations were held every six months for those on active duty. Mental health was being regarded more seriously and there was a counseling and therapy program underway.

Nevertheless, this initiative hadn't swayed Tsunade's decision to leave Konoha with Dan's orphaned niece. These changes had come far too late to save Nawaki. To save Dan.

Jiraiya was still somewhere in Ame, teaching some snot-nosed brats, and just another person missing from her life. Orochimaru _had_ been there and he'd been horrified by Dan's death in his own way. He had watched helplessly from the side as she pumped her chakra into Dan, trying desperately to fill the hole in his chest. He had been there when the last of her chakra flickered uselessly and her hands remained in that deathly void, perhaps as a poor substitute for the missing heart. He was the one who had pulled her bloody, bloody hands out of Dan's chest and saw the mortality that defeated Dan, the ninja who had defied Death in separating his soul from his body, the mortality that defeated Tsunade, the greatest medical ninja in the world who had beaten away the deadliest poisons with the same hands that laid waste to the continent. He was the one who had plucked the bloodied necklace that had hung undamaged from Dan's neck, ironically whole unlike the man it had been charged with protecting. He was the one who'd pressed that pendant into Tsunade's limp, bloody hands. He'd watched as she'd stared at its perfection disbelievingly.

And then Orochimaru had fled, profoundly disturbed by the irrefutable, indomitable mortality he had witnessed. Of course he had encountered death before. At a young age, he'd been privy to the untimely deaths of his parents which was the first experience that had truly shaped his knowledge that human beings die—sometimes, quite unpredictably—and one's aspirations are all for naught beneath the constant threat of an imminent end. And he'd seen countless shinobi fall in droves. But he was especially plagued by the thought of Dan whose unassailable Spirit had so easily felled hundreds of shinobi during the war, whose Spirit had died just as easily with a fatal blow to his vulnerable body. Dan had been different. Dan had transcended the limits of the mortal body with his signature jutsu, but as it turned out, even he wasn't immune to death. And so, Orochimaru had fled. He'd fled from Tsunade, who reminded him of the inevitability of death with the haunted vacancy in her eyes and her skittish retreat from the vital liquid that fed life. He fled from the post-war reconstruction of the village and the new life that bloomed everywhere. He devoted himself wholly to a research spurred by a single question—what could defeat Death? If only he could find some jutsu, some technique that would ensure that his life's work was permanent, eternal, unforgotten.

So while Orochimaru was in Konoha, he too, wasn't there when Tsunade looked down at the damnable necklace that had returned to hang mockingly from her neck and fell into a cynicism that denied the utility of her discipline. He wasn't there to stop her when she fled from the memories of Dan that inhabited the various reforms— _she saw Dan_ _in the hospital, the laboratory, the pamphlets for birth control, the first aid classes_ that he had campaigned so fervently for.

A tired Hokage-sama had asked her to say. She'd scoffed bitterly at her old sensei and left anyway. For what good was a healer who couldn't save those she loved? Who couldn't stand the sight of blood?

* * *

Akira and Kotone walked home leisurely, with Kotone carrying a bundled Nezumi in her arms. Every few meters, they were stopped and greeted with congratulatory pats on the back for Akira, gentle shoulder rubs for Kotone, and delighted coos for their new baby. Their well-wishers marveled at the plentiful fluff of black hair that graced Nezumi's head, the nose that was so _clearly_ Kotone's, and the forehead that strongly resembled Akira's. And they laughed at the suspicious way the little infant regarded their unsolicited violations of her personal space. Kotone smiled graciously and Akira laughed sheepishly at the congratulations they received.

"Wow, you look great as always Kotone." one woman said, lightly. "No hair falling out or anything!"

Kotone preened a little at the comment. She took pride in maintaining a clean, orderly appearance and pushing a human being out of her pee-hole wasn't going to change that. Before they left the hospital, she had fussed a bit over her still un-flat stomach, but Akira had assured her that no one would notice over the baby. She'd whacked him grumpily on the head—Akira, that socially inept moron. "You're supposed to tell me I look beautiful!"

But still, he was unfailingly observant of the faint stress lines that appeared on the corners of her mouth when she was tired, and she was grateful when he disengaged them from their friends and set a deliberate pace as they walked away.

And then, when they were only a few blocks from their destination, they stopped for two figures—a man with a face tight with worry and a long, shaggy white ponytail, and a woman with a pained smile and one hand resting on her very pregnant belly. With the other, she had his hand in a fierce grip that caused pinpricks of phantom pain in Akira's own hand and he winced sympathetically for the white-haired man.

"Ah! Sakumo, Miyako!" called Kotone. "Has it started?"

"No!" Miyako shook her head emphatically. "Sakumo's just being a worrywart. The baby's not due for another three weeks". And then Miyako gasped and her knees buckled as a contraction rippled through her. Sakumo wrapped his arm around her to support her and sighed.

"You're in labor, don't fight me." Miyako had evidently been robbed of speech and fight as she didn't protest when Sakumo picked her up.

He nodded distractedly to Kotone and Akira. "She started having contractions about 4 hours ago and she's been fighting me since. I'm taking her to the hospital."

"Oh, and congratulations" he said warmly, glancing at the infant Kotone was carrying. Then he was striding past them with Miyako in his arms.

They turned to watch him go, scattering groups of academy children freed from another day in prison. The children squawked, their cheerful impressions of the Shodaime rudely interrupted by the famous White Fang carrying an ailing pregnant woman who waved contritely at their shocked exclamations.

Kotone shook her head fondly. "That man. Always leaving such an impression." Then her expression clouded a little. "They'll be okay right? Three weeks is premature, but it's not _that_ bad", she mused to Akira.

He slung an arm around her shoulder and began leading her to their apartment. "They'll be okay. Now let's go and get Nezumi settled. She looks a bit peaky", he said looking down her shoulder and at the squirming baby before meeting Kotone's inquiring gaze.

"You too", he said teasingly, lightly thumbing the tired lines around her mouth. "Nezumi's going to grow up thinking you're her grandmother, if you keep frowning like that."

 _Thwack_.


	3. Birth In Reverse

Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom

\- Marcel Proust, _Les plaisirs et les jours_

* * *

 _Ch. 3 Birth in Reverse_

Sakumo walked as quickly as he could without jostling Miyako. She'd quit her stubborn fight with him after that last contraction made her confront the reality of the situation. Her obstinacy then translated to an excitement he saw brimming in her eyes.

She chattered on about nothing in particular and waved merrily to the people gawking at the sight of the White Fang carrying a very pregnant woman in his arms. She called out her salutations to those she recognized—there were many—who responded belatedly with words of encouragement. On her part, she felt his distress in the tightness in his grip. He wasn't hurting her in the slightest, but his hold on her was very stiff. She felt like she was being carried by a rock statue.

So she carried on as she usually did when Sakumo was stressed, commenting on the insignificant things like how Tanaka-san had promised to bake her that patented apple pie she was famous for, the pigtails made iconic by Tsunade-sama that were wildly in vogue among the female academy students, the hints of orange that were creeping on the leaves in the Hashirama trees that signified the turning seasons.

Then her stomach shifted so painfully that she had to stop her rambling to catch a few breaths and regain her bearings. Miyako grinned up at a worried Sakumo. "Ooh. That was a good one", she said with relish.

She went on. "I'm glad it's started. Soon, it'll all be over and you won't have to go out to find me fresh dango at 3 in the morning and I won't have to pee every two minutes." She shifted in his arms and he obliged by relaxing his grip fractionally. Then she drew her arm around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder before lightly pecking him on his cheek. "Stop being so moody. We're having a baby!"

He eased his head lightly into her touch. "I'm not being moody. I'm nervous", he admitted. "I thought we had a few more weeks and here you are, doing everything your way like always".

Miyako's smile took on a teasing edge. "Is that right? The big bad wolf is nervous? Because of lil' old me? I'm flattered". And then she deadpanned. "By the way, you forgot my hospital bag."

Sakumo huffed exasperatedly. "You forget I have something called chakra and that I can do something called shunshin when I'm not your pack mule. And about you making me nervous? You always do."

Miyako hummed approvingly at that. "How sweet. I should give birth more often."

"Well, you always leave the stove on, you never lock the front door, and I can't even count how many times I've caught you asleep with something in the oven. My life is under constant threat with you around so of course I'm always nervous."

"Jerk."

She felt his chest rumble as he chuckled and the corners of her mouth turned up, betraying the put-out expression she'd adopted at his jibes. She'd succeeded in getting him to relax, after all. And other than the occasional pain, she decided that she rather liked the experience of Sakumo carrying her like this. It made her want to kiss him. So she decided to kiss him, but she couldn't quite get at his face from this angle, baby and all. Sakumo, ever so helpful, saw her intentions and shifted his arms accordingly, meeting her halfway.

Their lips met once, twice, and she felt him smile.

"Who knew you had a thing for jerks," he murmured against her lips. "If I had known, I wouldn't have bothered being so nice to you when we were dating."

"I'm married to you aren't I?" she bit back, pulling away.

They were within a few meters of the hospital doors now, and she felt some of the tension slide back into Sakumo's arms. She sighed and simply laid her head back on his shoulder, playing with the ponytail behind his neck. "We'll be alright. You, me, and little Kakashi. We'll be home and I'll be unpacking that hospital bag I packed so thoughtfully and I'm making you change Kakashi's diapers and rock him to sleep for nine months to make up for all the time I've had to deal with him alone. Oh, and I'm going to smoke and drink and party like it's the end of the war. God knows I need a drink. Or twenty. Wait, I can have caffeine again!"

The tension persisted, but he retorted. "Then I can make you get out of bed to fetch me all of my food cravings and bother you about foot massages at ungodly hours? And if you do all that, I'd estimate your breast milk to be… well, at least 40 proof knowing you, so I guess I'll have to feed him too. We're not introducing Kakashi to the shinobi vices just yet"

Miyako stilled and the pleasant tingling in his hair subsided for a moment before it started back up again. "Well I already cook for you and thank God for that because I don't think I can stand another home-cooked meal by Hatake Sakumo. You're a man of many talents, Sakumo, but cooking is most certainly not one of them. These past few months have been hell for my palate. As for foot massages? Who is that gracious angel who patches up all the boo-boos on your grumpy post-mission ass? Hm— _ohhhhh_ ".

The rest of her sentence was cut off by a pained moan. The therapeutic stroking of his hair turned painful as she yanked on his ponytail in some crude parody of the old birthing technique of pulling on ropes. He had to angle his head back awkwardly to avoid having his hair pulled out. And then he felt something warm soaking his sleeve and trickling down through his pants. _What in the…?_ Was she peeing on him? He took a discreet sniff and soon realized that no, Miyako hadn't peed on him; her water had just broken. He hurried on and nodded his head with dignity at the bemused chunin who held the door open for them to pass.

And this was how they presented themselves to the receptionist. Hatake Sakumo, the White Fang, jounin commander, and celebrated hero, literally being pulled around by a leash by his laboring wife and looking for all the world like he had just wet himself.

* * *

A nurse came by with a wheelchair for Miyako and the receptionist handed Sakumo a clipboard with some documents to fill in. The ordinariness of the situation grounded him a bit; there was something calming about the routine of filling in those documents. Sakumo didn't like the hospital very much, with the harsh scent of lemon-scented cleaning products assaulting his nostrils, the bland, mushy slop— _"it's good for you!" they claimed_ —given impartially to recovering patients, the sterile white walls, and the imposing scrutiny of the too bright lights. Of course, his dislike was probably due to the fact that he only came to the hospital when there was something terribly wrong with him or someone he knew.

Once he was done, he followed the beckoning nurse into the room that Miyako had been wheeled into and found her in a starchy looking hospital gown. Then the nurse settled near Miyako and peered thoughtfully at the stopwatch hanging by a strap from one of the arms on the wheelchair.

"How is she?" Sakumo asked.

"She's doing quite fine", the nurse said. "From what your wife has been telling me, she's been having pains every 15 minutes or so. She eyed his damp clothes with a hint of a smile. "I can see that her water broke, but she's still in early labor right now and it's too soon for her to start pushing. We'll take her to the delivery room when she's dilated enough. It might be another few hours before that happens though. The first labor is usually protracted so don't worry about the time. And while you're waiting, it's a good idea to eat something or take her on a nice stroll. Oh, and would you like something to change into? My name is Emi, by the way. I'll be taking care of you two."

The nurse delivered all this in a no-nonsense, practiced tone. Evidently, she had dealt with many anxious fathers-to-be. And as it turned out, she'd answered his questions before he'd had the chance to ask them and prescribed them activities with which to quell their jitters.

"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you Emi-san. We'll be in your care. And yes, that would be much appreciated" Sakumo replied gratefully.

The nurse nodded. "Her last contraction was at 1:23 PM. Could you please note the time if she has another pain while I'm gone?"

Sakumo nodded his assent at Emi-san and went off to look for another gown.

"Sorry", Miyako said unapologetically, plucking at Sakumo's wet sleeve.

He shrugged. "Do you want something to eat?"

Miyako made a face. "I've seen the poor excuse for food they have around here. I won't have it. You can go ahead and poison yourself if you want to."

Emi returned before long with a spare hospital gown and a baggie, handing them off to Sakumo. "You can go change in the bathroom over there. And here's a bag for your dirty clothes."

He nodded his thanks and went to the bathroom to change. Luckily, he had been given a modest gown that came to his knees and wore like a loose sheath dress—he didn't have to worry about frail strings pulling apart to expose his buttocks.

When he returned to Miyako outfitted in the same gown she was wearing, carrying his soggy clothes in the plastic bag, she assaulted him with an imploring look in her eyes.

"I want sushi" Miyako said. "Emi-san was just telling me about this phenomenal little stand that's just down the road. Can you go get me some sake nigiri and miso soup?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, pointing to himself in all his gowned glory. Miyako mimicked him in response, raising her own eyebrow sardonically and gesturing at the bump he had so lovingly implanted in her body. She wasn't going to relent. So he turned with accusatory eyes to Emi-san, her willing accomplice.

Emi met his gaze steadily, unperturbed. "Like I said, it's a good idea to eat something sooner rather than later."

"Yes, but isn't sushi bad for pregnant women?" he inquired, looking for a way out.

Emi snorted. "That's just a myth. Actually, salmon is a very good idea since it's so rich in omega-3. Go right on ahead, Hatake-san. And don't worry about your modesty; I send patients there all the time so no one's going to bat an eye. Takashi-san is very understanding. I'll take care of Miyako-san while you're out."

Sakumo frowned. It wasn't his modesty he was worried about. He didn't want to leave Miyako.

The first labor is usually protracted", the nurse repeated, sensing his concern for his wife. "You won't miss anything."

Sakumo could recognize a lost battle when he saw one and knew how to surrender gracefully.

Miyako beamed happily when Sakumo finally sighed in resignation and asked, "Where is it? What's it called?"

The nurse obliged, giving him a set of straightforward directions as he rifled through the plastic baggie to find his wallet.

On his way out, he paused beneath the doorframe. "Eggplant in your miso soup?"

"Always," replied a satisfied Miyako.

* * *

It didn't take Sakumo very long to find the quaint little sushi stand but it did take a good deal of time for him to inch his way up the busy line, tapping his foot impatiently all the way. It was still lunch hour and Takashi's was apparently a very popular joint. He received a few curious glances here and there, but no one bothered him about his hospital gown so Emi-san hadn't just been lying to him to get him to leave.

After about 30 minutes or so, he was finally at the top of the line and the sushi man introduced himself as Takashi with a congenial smile. Sakumo introduced himself in turn and ordered unagi for himself and relayed Miyako's requests.

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you wearing that gown for?" Takashi-san asked, making polite conversation as he worked. "I noticed you're not wearing an identification bracelet so I'm assuming you're not a patient who sneaked out to escape the hospital food" Takashi-san winked conspiratorially.

The man was perceptive, Sakumo realized. "My wife is giving birth right now. Her water broke as I was carrying her to the hospital so the nurse gave me this to wear."

Takashi-san chuckled. "Ah, Emi-san was it?"

"How'd you know?"

"Oh, she likes to send expecting fathers here. She complains that the only thing they're good for is fetching food since all they do is worry and drive their wives crazy. Is this your first?"

Sakumo smiled ruefully. "Yes, we're expecting our first but... she's 3 weeks early. I'm a little worried."

"No, no, that's a cause for celebration." Takashi wiped his hands on the towel hanging from his waist and disappeared beneath the counter briefly, reappearing with a bottle of sake and two cups. "Here, this is on the house", he said, pouring out two generous portions.

Sakumo took the proffered cup with thanks and the two men raised their cups in salute to Miyako laboring in the hospital nearby. Sakumo threw his head back and downed his in one go, savoring the welcome warmth that settled some of the butterflies in his stomach. He sighed appreciatively.

Takashi drank his portion at a more relaxed pace and resumed working on Sakumo's order. "When my wife was pregnant with our first, she threw out all the alcohol in the house and declared it contraband. So I kept a secret stash here and it's just stuck ever since."

"Ah, Miyako didn't do anything like that but she would always stare at me until I couldn't stand it. Eventually, I just had to stop drinking. She did say that she was going to go on a bender after all this is over", Sakumo replied.

Takashi grinned in response, "I can't blame her. Nine months is a long time to be dry. Anyway, here's your order. Unagi and eggplant miso and sake nigiri, for you Sakumo-san." As Sakumo nodded his thanks and doled out the proper payment, Takashi raised his cup in salute once more and drained the rest. "Come back here with the missus after all this is over and I'll treat you to something nice. Take care!"

* * *

When Sakumo returned to the waiting room, he discovered only his bag of wet clothes waiting for him. He frowned and sought out Miyako's chakra signature to locate her but he was deterred by the privacy wards placed throughout the hospital for patient confidentiality. Her wheelchair was still there. Had she been taken to the delivery room already? Emi-san had said the first labor was usually protracted. He checked the clock which read 2:32, meaning that it had been approximately 6 hours since the pains had started. _Where was she? Had she begun giving birth while he was out? Was she in labor? Had the baby already been born? Was she okay? How was the baby? Where was she? Where did she go? What happened?_

He dumped the bag of takeout on a chair and rushed out to ask the nearest nurse for Miyako's whereabouts.

He was directed to the pavilion where he found Miyako and the nurse taking a leisurely stroll, remarking on flowers or trees or some bullshit. Sakumo paused to catch his breath and regain his composure before joining the two women. Emi-san was startled by his sudden appearance but Miyako turned her head to him expectantly, having felt his chakra approaching.

"Where's the food?" Miyako asked curiously, rubbing her swollen stomach.

Sakumo took a deep breath and raised his face to the sky as he prayed for patience. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten_ , he counted silently as his panicked heartbeat slowed.

A warm hand wormed its way into his and he felt small fingers threading between his own. He gripped the hand fervently and took one last breath before facing Miyako again. She had a rare look of contrition on her face. _Sorry_ , she conveyed with her eyes. Sakumo bent down to kiss the top of her head, breathing in her scent. _You scared me._

After a brief moment, he turned to Emi-san who was studiously regarding her neatly trimmed fingernails. "Did anything happen while I was gone?" he asked gruffly.

"Oh no", the nurse responded immediately. "Miyako-san had a few more pains but they weren't very serious. I estimate it'll be another couple of hours before she's in active labor".

Miyako tugged at his hand. "So where's the food?" she asked once more and he breathed sharply through his nose in fond exasperation.

* * *

They spent the next few hours talking, going on short walks, and playing hanafuda half-heartedly with some cards Emi-san had provided. The pains came and went inconsistently. Miyako's face lit up when the pains were strong and she frowned disappointedly when they were weak. As Emi-san predicted, Miyako didn't start to labor in earnest until a few hours later as the sun was setting. And when Emi-san finally deemed her dilated enough, they wheeled Miyako away into a delivery room, Miyako chattering away excitedly.

Miyako's pains had started at around 8 o'clock that morning, her water had broken around 1PM and she had been taken to the delivery room around 5 PM. But by 11PM that night, she was still in the delivery room and her contractions had once again fallen off. By this point, her earlier zeal had evaporated and she was left looking very tired and worn.

Sakumo could tell when she had another contraction—he could see it on her face. At this, Emi-san left and returned with their doctor who solemnly approached Sakumo and Miyako.

"Since your water already broke earlier this afternoon and since your contractions have been so inconsistent, we recommend induced labor for you", the doctor said.

Sakumo and Miyako shared a look before turning to the doctor in tandem.

"Could you explain more, doctor? Why do we need to induce labor?" Sakumo asked.

"Well you see, there's a greater risk of infection for you and the child when your water breaks and labor is delayed like this. We wanted to wait until you started labor naturally, but at this point, it's a better idea to induce labor."

Miyako lifted her head up to make eye contact with the doctor. "What's going to happen if we induce labor? Are there any risks involved?"

The doctor smiled at her reassuringly. "We're going to start you on some oxytocin and this should make your contractions come more strongly and consistently. As for risks… well, you'll probably have stronger pains than usual. I know you want to give birth naturally, but remember we can give you an epidural if the pain is too much." He hesitated before tacking on an addendum. "If worse comes to worst, we might have to perform a C-section but please, don't worry. This is not uncommon. These are all procedures we received from Tsunade-sama herself"

Invoking the name of Tsunade in a hospital setting was like calling upon Kami himself.

Nonetheless, Miyako didn't look very convinced. "Is the baby okay? This won't hurt him, right?"

"Your baby is fine. This is all very safe", the doctor replied.

Sakumo stroked Miyako's hand encouragingly and she nodded forlornly in agreement. With that, the doctor left the room and Emi-san bustled around them with a medication bag and an IV stand.

She snuggled her head into his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do this naturally. I already suck at being a mother."

"Don't say that," he said, playing with her lacquered fingernails. "You're going to be a great mother even as an incurable alcoholic. You already gave up drinking for 9 months for Kakashi, remember?"

She scoffed at his comment and yanked her hand out of his grasp. "Stop that," she said, peering down at her red fingernails. "Why do you always rub my nails like that? You'll ruin my manicure."

He shrugged. "It feels nice."

"Well come with me to the nail salon next time and get your own painted. Then you can play with _yourself_ all you want. And I'm not an alcoholic; I rebuke that."

"Okay. What color would suit me? I don't think red is really my color."

Miyako finally smiled reluctantly. "Hmm. Obviously, you're a black man." She winced as Emi-san inserted a needle in the arm opposite of Sakumo. "Black like your soul… you're a black hole."

"You're not a poet, Miyako. Stop trying so hard."

She huffed and poked his cheek. "I'm giving birth to your child. Cut me some slack."

"And I'm glad. You won't be able to play that card anymore when this is over, you know."

"Oh? I'll be the _mother_ of your child when this is over and somehow, I think that's an even better card, don't you think?"

Sakumo took Miyako's hand again and she relented. "Yes, and you'll be a great mother," he repeated solemnly.

Miyako began to say something but the heartfelt look in his eyes stopped her. So she let her head fall back onto his shoulder after giving him a slight peck on the spot she had poked on his cheek. They fell into a comfortable silence after that and it wasn't long before the contractions began to pick up again.

* * *

It was light outside when the doctor finally declared the need to deliver by caesarean section. The oxytocin had done its job in bringing more frequent contractions, but unfortunately, the 37 week old baby in Miyako's womb hadn't quite finished moving into place. Emi-san's careful palpations of Miyako's stomach hadn't afforded a glimpse of the minute deviation from the optimal fetal positioning. Instead of facing all the way head down, it seemed that little Kakashi was angled so that his shoulder and head were tearing Miyako's cervix, causing excruciating agony. The pain had finally prompted Miyako to ask for pain medication which came in the form of a patient controlled pump.

So by morning, Miyako was nearly delirious from the combined fatigue and her abuse of the pain medication pump.

Sakumo could only watch as Emi-san and the doctor wheeled a wailing Miyako away on a rolling bed to an operation room. He was ushered into an auditorium of sorts that was a level above the scene of the action. There were a few nurses seated in the center of the room who were murmuring amongst themselves about learning from the operation. Sakumo couldn't bring himself to really watch but he also couldn't bear to abandon Miyako completely. So he sat in the corner where he could just barely see Miyako's masked face and the blue sheet that covered her belly.

Still, he had to look away when the surgeon made an incision on her belly and dark red blood seeped out of Miyako. This felt… _wrong_. He looked up again when the nurses began clapping politely and he saw something that looked like a freshly-skinned rabbit being handled by the doctor. The thing began crying almost immediately as the doctor handed it off to Emi-san to be washed and weighed. And then he had to look away again because there was a huge, gaping, bleeding hole in Miyako's center.

So he left the auditorium to greet his new son. Emi-san had already left the operating room with Kakashi and was quickly making her way down the corridor. She entered another room and Sakumo followed her. Emi-san turned her head to acknowledge his entrance as she busied herself with the squalling newborn.

Sakumo was fascinated by the shock of white hair that emerged on little Kakashi's head when Emi-san managed to wash the last of the blood off.

He hesitated—he wanted to properly greet the child but he didn't want to mess up and hurt him. Emi-san, ever perceptive, saw the indecision on his face and gestured to the nearby sink.

"Please wash your hands thoroughly before touching him", she said lightly, snapping an identification bracelet on the baby's tiny wrist.

Sakumo did as he was instructed and after washing his hands once, twice, then thrice for good measure, he approached the nurse and she handed Kakashi off to him, gently adjusting Sakumo's amateur hold to better support the baby's head.

Kakashi settled a bit in Sakumo's arms and then yawned, his impossibly tiny mouth forming a small "o". The baby gurgled a bit and then fully closed his eyelids, obscuring the hint of dark grey eyes that had been fluttering up at him. Sleeping Kakashi still managed to have a very active face and his tiny features twisted and smoothed as he twitched in his sleep. Something in Sakumo inexorably melted at this and he brought an achingly careful hand to pet that fluff of hair.

Once she saw the connection established, Emi-san asked him to mold a bit of chakra into the yellow band on Kakashi's wrist. As he did, black seal lines sprang throughout the plastic and Sakumo started a bit.

Emi-san explained, "That's a precautionary measure that we've put in place for ninja babies. If someone besides the owner of that chakra seal tries to steal away with the child, the hospital alarms go off and we go into lock down. And later, you and Miyako-san will be asked to sign the birth certificate in blood like how you would sign a summoning scroll."

Sakumo nodded. He, Miyako, and now Kakashi were the only remaining members of the Hatake clan so he appreciated the added security. He continued to stare down fondly at the baby. Already, little Kakashi had a rather potent chakra signature that danced erratically in a way typical of the Hatake clan's white chakra.

"He's magnificent," Emi-san crowed and the sheer delight on her face lightened the dark shadows underneath her eyes. He noted that the nurse had been with them since they had arrived at the hospital, meaning she had stayed a full two shifts and was starting on her third to care for them.

"7.8 pounds and 21.23 inches. Miyako-san did very well", Emi-san said with flourish.

The reference to Miyako brought Sakumo out of his ponderous stupor and he handed the baby off to Emi-san to go check up on Miyako. He caught some trailing words about Miyako-san needing to recover from the surgery, but he brushed them off and made his way back to the auditorium as the light above the operation room still indicated a surgery in progress.

The hole in Miyako's stomach looked much less terrifying now as the surgeon finished closing it with neat, tight stitches. The surgeon must have been very good at his job because his stitches made the treatments Sakumo had received on the battlefield look downright childish. That was good. He would have had an eternal flea in his ear if Miyako came home from this with a messy scar on her belly.

Sakumo rose as the surgeon put down the needle and thread, eager to leave the auditorium and greet Miyako with the newborn Kakashi. But wait, what was happening down there? What was that red liquid the surgeon was standing in? Was that blood? Where was it all coming from? The operating room was beginning to look like the well-loved torture chambers in the Interrogation department with all those bloodied tools and masked strangers running about. Someone—maybe it was Emi-san—came to drag him out of the auditorium and away from the nightmare that was unfolding right before his eyes.

He was deposited in the chair outside of his and Miyako's original room where they had waited and ate and played hanafuda. Distantly, he heard himself asking what was happening but he couldn't really comprehend anything once he heard the word "hemorrhage". It felt like someone had violently shoved cotton balls into his ears. He looked around frantically but the only thing near him was a window whose bright, cheery light read early afternoon. He had only himself for company as he waited and he was very poor company indeed. His anxious subconscious went into overdrive.

What if she dies? No one dies in childbirth anymore. What if she dies? The first labor is protracted. The first labor is more difficult. What if she dies? What about the unfinished baby room and the piles of unpacked boxes containing baby clothes and supplies and diapers and diapers upon diapers. What if she dies? This was the best procedure, the best route to take. But what if she dies? Miyako is in the best of hands. Konoha has the best hospital in the world. What if she dies? You're an idiot, she'll be okay. But what if she dies? She won't die. You've been panicking all day for nothing. What if she dies? She'll tease me for worrying later and we'll have a great laugh at Takashi's when this is over. But what if she dies? She won't die, you idiot. You're going to go home with her and the baby and she's going to drink herself to death before anything else. But what if she dies? What about Kakashi? Kakashi is okay and healthy and he's a great baby. What if she dies? There are great doctors in there working with her. Emi-san said everything will be okay. What if she dies? Chakra can do so many things. She has to be okay. What if she dies?

* * *

At long last, they came wheeling Miyako out of an elevator and into the very room he waited outside of. He stood, straining to catch a glimpse of his wife past the entourage of nurses and hospital equipment, but the doctor came to block his vision and sit him back down.

"How is she?" Sakumo asked urgently.

The doctor sat next to him and stared at the ground as he gave his stunted explanation. "I'm afraid Miyako-san is very ill. There were complications after the surgery. It seems that some amniotic fluid entered her bloodstream, causing an embolism... She kept hemorrhaging after that. We couldn't stop the bleeding. We gave her blood replenishing pills but she reacted very badly. We tried clotting the blood but there was so much of it. We did everything we could."

A beat passed as Sakumo tried to process these long words and incomprehensible sentences. What was the doctor saying? He gathered that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Is she going to die?" Sakumo asked blankly.

"…She is unconscious." The doctor hesitated for a moment before offering, "Would you like to go see your son? He's a fine baby. Very healthy."

Sakumo shook his head listlessly. What could he do with a baby? All of the fond emotions he'd derived from feeling Kakashi's little kicks came from Miyako. Miyako inspired his parental love and now she was very very sick and possibly dying. He didn't feel anything for the baby. In fact, he didn't feel much anything at all right now.

"You shouldn't take it out on your baby. Sometimes these things just happen and it's not the little one's fault", the doctor prodded.

Sakumo couldn't stand it anymore. He rose from the chair stiffly and entered the room. Miyako was very still and very grey. She looked dead. Sakumo only knew she wasn't dead— _yet_ , his mind supplied rebelliously—from the way her chakra flickered weakly and her chest rose faintly as she breathed. He sat down next to her and stroked her cheek reverently as if she would disappear without warning. She was so cold. Miyako's eyes fluttered at his touch and he retreated immediately. He hadn't meant to wake her.

"Oh Sakumo, I'm so sorry. I wanted to do this without a fuss. I wanted to be a good mother." Miyako's voice was soft and broken. He had to lean in next to her face to hear her.

"Look after Kakashi for me. Promise me you'll love him. I love him so much. Make sure he knows that. Will you do that for me?

Sakumo bit his lip harshly, drawing blood. " _We'll_ make sure he knows that."

She began to cry. "I think I'm dying. I think I'm going to die. I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to."

"No, no, no. You're not dying. You're not going to die. I won't let you die. I'm not leaving you. You're not leaving me." Sakumo promised brokenly. His hand found its way to her hand underneath the blanket covering her. It was cold.

Miyako continued to babble on semi-coherently. "Will you love other girls? Will you find someone else? I want you to be happy and I love you so much but I don't want you to be with someone else. I want you to be with someone else though. I want you to be happy. Will you be happy?"

He engulfed her cold hand with both of his, willing some warmth, some life back into her. "Don't talk like that. You're going to live and we're going to raise Kakashi together. I'm not leaving you and you're not leaving me."

Miyako continued to ramble on, incoherently and without taking notice of any of his words. He tried his best to interpret her mumbling but he only caught a few hints of words that sounded vaguely like "Kakashi" and "die". It was a lesson in futility. Her words slurred together and there was an unfocused glaze in her eyes.

Sakumo lay his head next to her and closed his eyes, unable to keep the tears from spilling through. He was so tired and so afraid. He wanted the lighthearted banter that had accompanied the morning. He wanted the warm, healthy flush in her face to come back. He wanted her warm hand in his. He wanted to take her and Kakashi home. He wanted so much for this madness to be over and for everything to go back to normal.

Emi-san entered the room solemnly and laid a gentle hand on Sakumo's shoulder. "I must ask you to leave, Hatake-san. Miyako-san needs her rest."

He stared at Miyako's lifeless figure. She had fallen back asleep. He lowered his head to lay a soft kiss on her forehead. She was so cold. He rose from his seat slowly and swept his eyes over Miyako's still body. With that, he silently left the room and sat on the chair outside. Then he bowed his head and prayed to anyone who would listen.

 _Please don't let her die. Oh God, please don't let her die. I'll do anything if you let her not die. Please. Oh God, please. Oh please, not her. Not her. Not her. I'll do anything if she lives. Please oh God, please. Let her live. I'll do anything just please let her live. Please, please, please, dear God, don't let her die. I'll be good, I promise. Just please don't let her die._

* * *

Sakumo waited for what seemed like decades even as he watched the time pass in the window. He watched the sun set in a blaze of vibrant streaks of orange and red. He watched as dusk settled in, swallowing the trailing glow left behind by the sun. He heard the crickets and toads join in a cheerful chorus that betrayed the stifling solemnity of the situation. In the darkness, the lights in the hospital burned flashes of white that he continued to see even when he closed his eyes. The lemon-scented cleaner couldn't hide what was beginning to smell like an old slaughterhouse. His stomach shifted uncomfortably as nausea rose to claw at his throat. He leaned over mechanically to vomit in the metal trash bin next to the chair and didn't stop vomiting until he was just choking out long lines of saliva.

He greeted the sour smell with good grace. It hid the smell of death in the air.

So he stayed hunched awkwardly over the metal bucket, staring into the abyss that was not so much of an abyss as it was a stinking, chunky concoction of mostly-digested unagi. Still, it was better than looking at the lights intruding and the walls closing in on his body.

Sakumo's own childhood had been ravaged by war and he didn't really have any fond memories of doting parents—none of them did. He had been the product of a post-war bliss along with many of his peers. In the aftermath of the first war, a contagious optimism had infected Konoha, bringing many to try and build something on the territory so dearly won. Inevitably, that optimism was ruthlessly squashed by the next war that came much too soon and the village simply added the influx of children from the baby boom to the ninja production line. Childbearing once again became a mandate taken up by men and women who had the ability to reproduce. Or, it was just something that happened as a result of one good night shared by a man and a woman. That was all it took. The miracle of life consisted in a man and a woman rubbing their genitalia together.

Then children came and your whole life was dominated by diapers and screaming and crying and sleepless nights and toys underfoot and messes everywhere. They ruined the safe haven that you had so painstakingly built with your significant other. And then all your time and attention would have to be devoted to this utterly helpless thing. They came to wage a different kind of war, but a war nonetheless, on the peaceful order and the routine that you fought so hard for. Maybe you would come to love your child and your child would come to love you back but most of the time, the parent wearily acted upon the responsibility for bringing that child into the world. And the child—well, the child didn't really know better than to be anything but a nuisance and when it finally learned _how_ to be an autonomous, fully functioning human being, it just _didn't_ and continued to cling to the parent. It was just a crude sort of relationship based on a one-sided dependency.

And then the child was taken to the academy which worked perfunctorily in molding soft, un-calloused skin and baby fat into ninja material. The mind was a different matter—the shinobi laws were drilled into the child's brain but it wouldn't understand or know the horrors of actually applying those laws until it was sent out. The academy was allotted neither the time nor the resources to properly educate its pupils. And when the child graduated, perhaps it would become a successful ninja and manage to climb the ranks and go from genin to chunin; if it were especially extraordinary, it would make the leap to jounin. But most of the time, children were taken and thrown into the world which responded to their fresh-faced hope and young ambition and nervous fears with overwhelming hostility. The world killed you. It killed you over and over and over again. Those who survived this brutal hazing became jaded and cynical, living on a roach's mentality that was given the misleadingly glorious epithet "Will of Fire". Theirs was a profession of bloodshed and death. Statistically, few made it beyond genin and even fewer achieved any degree of happiness. But in the end, the world succeeded in killing you.

It was a tragedy when a child died, but this tragedy was an old, familiar friend to most parents in the shinobi world. As a shinobi parent, it was really all you could hope that your child would survive whether or not with all limbs and mentality intact.

Perhaps it would be different now that the war had ended. Maybe, maybe, maybe this time around it would be different and the hidden villages would keep to themselves. But in the time being, what was he supposed to do? Miyako was the one responsible for any hint of happiness in his life. As a chunin with an aptitude for decrypting Ame code, she had worked in the Intelligence division during the war and as such, still had a degree of humanity that had brought him life. She hadn't been exposed to the atrocities—the killing fields named for the rotting corpses that no one had the time to bury or the chakra to burn, the rotting corpses that received no respite in death as hunter-nin descended with the crows to pluck out their secrets and kekkei genkai, the sudden deaths of dear friends and teammates as they fell, strings cruelly cut by well-aimed kunai and jutsu, the choking futility and horror you felt as you were confronted by the very real possibility of your own death, the deconstruction of your humanity as you forgot the value of human lives and began to see people as numbers and as mere bodies. As for Sakumo, he remembered all these atrocities vividly and even worse, he had forgotten the brief moments of fragile relief contained in the desperate camaraderie of survivors.

Miyako had come upon him like the sun. She was the one who drew him out of the depths of his despair. He was the moth that was drawn to her brilliant, brilliant flame. So what if she should die? She wasn't going to die. But could he believe that? She already had one foot in the grave. She already _looked_ dead. She wouldn't die. Would she die? She wouldn't dare leave him. She wouldn't leave him alone with a baby he didn't know how to handle. Dying didn't happen anymore. The war was over. They had survived this war so death shouldn't happen anymore. Against all odds, he and Miyako had survived the war unscathed so why now? Why should she die now? She would live. People didn't die anymore. Well sure, people still died but only those who were old and sickly. She wouldn't die. But what if she should die?

The door opened and closed, interrupting the depressed internal monologue brought on by the violent purging of his stomach.

Emi-san stood before him with lines of fatigue etched deeply below her sorrowful eyes. "You should go see her now", she said hollowly.

Sakumo got up and went into the room and watched Miyako's still figure. She didn't regain consciousness and it didn't take her very long to die.

* * *

A few nurses entered, tittering over the flat line running in the heart monitor and the IV drip that was hanging near the bed. He heard one of them gently asking him to leave but he shook his head.

"Leave", he commanded flatly, not looking up from Miyako's grey face.

He felt them falter and hesitate in his periphery. Then Emi-san walked in and ushered them out. They closed the door behind him and he was left alone with Miyako's body. She didn't look like she was sleeping and she didn't look like she had been killed. She just looked dead. Sakumo wasn't accustomed to this kind of death and he didn't know how to react. Her eyes were already closed, her mouth was slightly open, her head bore heavily into the pillow.

What was he supposed to do? How do people say goodbye to their loved ones? How are people supposed to act when their loved ones die? What do you do when death happens outside of battle? He didn't have a procedure for this.

He tried to say goodbye but the words stuck in his throat and he felt like he was talking to a statue anyway. It all felt so contrived and so disingenuous. The body lying before him was not Miyako. The body lying before him was just a body. And the veteran shinobi part of him that was desensitized to death had already closed off his emotions so that he was left feeling numb and detached.

He laid a hand on her cheek in a last ditch effort to make himself feel something but it was so cold. So, so, so cold.

* * *

The rest of the night passed by in a whirl of mindless paperwork and pamphlets and instructions that made no sense to him and then there was a baby in his arms and Sakumo was home.

He shucked off his shoes wearily and belatedly registered the hospital bag waiting patiently next to the door. His shoes collided with the red canvas bag and the stuffed wolf doll he had won for Miyako at the summer solstice festival fell out as it was knocked over. It tumbled and rolled away from the rest of the contents, coming to a stop on the rug. Something broke in him at the sight of the wolf lying forlorn and abandoned. And at long last, he fell to his knees, weeping and he was soon joined by Kakashi who was much too young to know that he had just succeeded in making his first kill.


	4. Psyche

_Ch. 4 Psyche_

* * *

When Kotone finally came home that night, heaven waltzed in with her and Akira's stomach signaled furiously at him to go greet her but he remained stubbornly fixed to the couch with a sleeping Nezumi in his arms.

Unfortunately, something about her mother's coming home must have upset her because Nezumi began shifting uncomfortably as she woke up and started making distressed noises.

 _Your mother upsets you, hmm? You and me both._ Akira thought, gratified that there was at least one person on his side.

He got up from the couch and watched his wife slip off her shoes from the foyer. He spied a conspicuous absence of shopping bags and this fueled his anger even more.

"Did you have a fun time grocery shop—," he began stonily and then the rest of that sentence trailed off when he saw the peace offering in Kotone's arm. "—is that… is that Tanaka-san's apple pie?" he bit out reverently as he sidestepped his unusually somber wife and made a beeline for the casserole dish she was setting on the table. All could be forgiven if that was indeed Tanaka-san's apple pie. It was.

The golden pastry oozed with ambrosia and called out to him with a siren's song. He couldn't help it. He reached out with one hand to pluck one luscious looking piece of crust from the edge of the plate but Kotone slapped it away.

"Idiot. That's not for you," Kotone said sharply.

The anger returned in spades.

"Is that right?" Akira snapped, scanning his eyes over the suddenly unappealing pie before turning to fix Kotone with a glare he hoped contained all the bottled-up frustration that had been building up all day. "You mean to tell me that you went 'grocery shopping' for ten hours and didn't come back with a single grocery?" he said as his fingers slashed quotations through the air. "Who is this for then?"

"It's for Sakumo and Miyako… was for…" Kotone trailed off.

"Sakumo! Sakumo, Sakumo, Sakumo, Sakumo. Of course it's for Sakumo. Of course it's for him and not the guy who's been looking after _our_ baby all day without any way of feeding her. Of course! That makes so much sense!"

He thrusted the now crying Nezumi over to Kotone. "Here, it's your damn turn. Take the baby. I'm going to bed."

Kotone took the infant in her arms and pulled down her top as she did so, bringing out a breast to feed Nezumi. But instead of latching onto her new food source, Nezumi let out a wail at being separated from her father and flailed her tiny infant arms, making it a prodigious task to hold her. He noted Kotone's struggle with grim satisfaction. _Serves her right_.

"Wait," she said, following after Akira as he made his way to the bedroom. "Wait," she repeated tiredly.

Akira turned to face her. "Give me one good explanation. Give me one good, _actual_ explanation that doesn't have you going off about secret ninja things," he spat. "You always do this—you always disappear for hours or days without a single word! Do you know how frustrating that is?"

"But you know what?" he gestured to infant that had finally given up her valiant fight to devote her attention to the offered breast. "I'm not the only one you're blowing off now."

Kotone took all this in and met him squarely in the eye. "Yes. Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. You must have been worried and I know it wasn't fair for me to take off without telling you. I'm sorry," she repeated earnestly.

"Well?" he pressed impatiently. He'd heard all this before. "Are you going to tell me what was so damn important that Nezumi went without feeding for _10 hours?_ "

Kotone's somber face turned sorrowful. She deflated as her shoulders fell into a slump—as much as they could with a nursing infant in the way. "Miyako died," she revealed at last, derailing the devastating comebacks and snide remarks forming on his tongue that he'd had all day to perfect.

"…What?" Akira stood there, shell-shocked, his earlier ire draining from him rather unfairly. Kotone took the opportunity to draw closer to him and drop her head on his shoulder.

"Hug me," she begged. "I spent all day making arrangements for the funeral."

Akira wrapped limp arms around her after a beat passed and wondered if Kotone would beleaguer him with the details or if this was one of those sensitive _ninja only_ cases where, you know, she had to keep her mouth shut because she would have to kill him if he knew.

So he asked her, "What happened?"

A warm gust of air pleasantly tickled the hairs on his neck as Kotone sighed, but Akira decided that it most certainly wasn't code for bedtime activities.

"When I went out to get groceries, I ran across Tanaka-san knocking on Sakumo's door. Then I realized that it was about time that he and Miyako came home from the hospital. So I let myself in and found Sakumo just sitting there listening to the voice recording Miyako set up on their landline," Kotone explained wearily.

"I don't understand. We just saw her and Sakumo-san a few days ago."

Kotone drew away from him slightly to run a tired hand through her hair and to gaze at the suckling infant. "It was childbirth. Their baby is okay, but she… It was a difficult labor."

Something cold settled in Akira's stomach and he was suddenly very grateful for Kotone's warm presence. He found that it was terrible to take comfort in another man's loss but that he couldn't stand to berate himself for his selfishness.

"Sakumo's in really bad shape. This is worse than when Sensei died…" she mumbled more to herself than to him. "I spent the whole day looking after little Kakashi and making arrangements for Miyako's funeral," she mumbled absently.

Akira started stroking her back comfortingly. He didn't quite know what to say. Truth be told, he had always been intimidated of Kotone's old teammate. Kotone, of course, insisted that Akira was just being a silly coward as usual and that Sakumo was kind and loyal and the noblest ninja of them all. She did, however, privately agree that Sakumo—with that loping gait, that long, shaggy white hair, and those penetrating eyes—bore a very close resemblance to the savage wolves he summoned in battle.

But this didn't keep Akira from empathizing with the white-haired man. It was clear to everyone that Sakumo adored his wife. He'd seen the way Sakumo doted on Miyako, the laugh lines that appeared on his face whenever Miyako was in the vicinity, the fond, lingering touches shared by the two.

"I… What happened?" Akira said dumbly.

Nezumi finished feeding and Kotone held up the infant to sniff for soiled diapers. Evidently, the baby passed the test solidly because Kotone went and deposited her in the crib they'd set up in their bedroom.

She came back to him, tucking her breast back into the large, sensible bra lined with elastic that was the reputed favorite of breastfeeding mothers. Then she took his hand and led him to the bed. They sat in grave silence as Akira waited for Kotone to begin telling her story.

* * *

Kotone breathed the crisp, morning air in with relish as she made her way to the marketplace. It'd been three harrowing days since she'd been out of the house and she was going to enjoy every second of this brief escape from the baby.

She was a little ashamed of herself—a mother shouldn't take such pleasure in being away from her child, but she couldn't help it. Her nipples throbbed painfully as her thoughts reminded her of the way Nezumi bit down savagely on her breast more often than she actually fed from it. By now, Kotone was sure that her once perky breasts would forever bear the marks of motherhood. Actually, it seemed her entire body had been a sacrifice. Her still un-flat stomach bore ugly silver stretch marks, her breasts sagged unflatteringly with milk, and now her nipples were chewed up like a dog's old toy. Not to mention, she couldn't move with the same grace she'd had before. Her center of balance was off with all this added weight. It was really quite frustrating in a way she couldn't articulate to Akira. He professed to loving her new curves but she was sure that this was just a survival tactic of his.

And worst of all, Nezumi was a _fussy_ baby, to put it politely. _Especially_ with Kotone. Nezumi bit her nipples like a snapping turtle, but that wasn't all. She also liked to yank viciously on Kotone's hair, punch and kick at her with surprising strength, and scream and cry whenever Kotone tried to hold her. Akira was the undisputed favorite parent and it hadn't even been a week since Nezumi was born. It didn't seem that Nezumi particularly liked him either, but she stayed put and didn't cry in his arms and that was all they could really ask for at this point. All in all, Kotone was feeling rather abused and unloved for all the work that she'd put into rearing this brat.

Frantic knocking interrupted Kotone's train of thought and she noticed Tanaka-san from the apple orchard rapping on the door of the Hatake residence. With a start, Kotone realized that it was about time for the couple's return from the hospital. Maybe Miyako had some tips for dealing with unruly babies. In any case, Kotone wanted to set up a playdate even if it just became another excuse for her to leave the house.

"Ah, Tanaka-san! How are you?" called out Kotone.

"Late! I'm very late!" the frazzled woman returned and pointed to the door she was currently assaulting. "I heard they were back from the hospital and I promised Miyako-san an apple pie." She looked despairingly at the fragrant-smelling dish in her arms. "Oh, I'm so late. My boss is going to fire me! Do you think I can just leave this here?"

Kotone smiled reassuringly at her. "I want to see Sakumo and Miyako and their new baby anyway. Here, I'll make sure they get it. Go on ahead."

Tanaka-san thanked her profusely and then ran off, leaving Kotone with her precious charge and staring bemusedly at the door. Sakumo had an incorrigible habit of leaving nasty surprises for unwanted intruders. God forbid there was ever an emergency and someone needed to reach him. That someone would be rewarded for her troubles with a barrage of shuriken and probably a wicked genjutsu too. But luckily, it seemed Sakumo had finally come to his senses for her trained eye could discern no trace of a trap. Either that or Sakumo's skill in setting traps had finally surpassed her knack for finding and dismantling them.

She hesitantly turned the knob, half-expecting to be impaled by a kunai but was surprised to find no resistance. The door opened smoothly and she let herself in.

The scene that met her made her smile knowingly. There was a scattered pile of papers and pamphlets, shoes that hadn't quite made it to the shoe rack, a hodgepodge of clothes and snacks and books falling out of a red bag, and a stuffed animal strewn out along the entrance. It seemed that the baby mess had invaded the Hatake home too.

"Sakumo! Miyako!" Kotone sang out, ready to greet her fellow soldiers in arms and the baby that waged war on them.

There was no response. So Kotone slipped off her shoes and wandered through the doorway and into the foyer which was an attractive blend of Western and Eastern aesthetics. The tatami mat rustled underneath her feet as she passed through the sliding shoji door and into the carpeted living room.

"Sakumo? Miyako?" she called out, uncertainly. Usually by this point, an annoyed Sakumo appeared to scowl at her intrusion and for her to gloat at. He set traps and she disarmed them. That was how they operated. Maybe the couple was still at the hospital? No, that was a silly thought. Sakumo wouldn't leave his home so undefended. They must have been asleep then?

There was the faint sound of a phone ringing and then a baby's cry. Ah, there it was! Kotone followed the sound to the kitchen where she saw Sakumo in a hospital gown, sitting hunched at the table with a white-haired infant crying in his arms. But as she approached, she was struck by a nauseating stench that had seemingly risen from the depths of the deepest, crustiest sewers.

The phone continued to ring and Sakumo made no move to answer it or acknowledge her presence.

"Sakumo!" Kotone repeated, annoyed. "Hey!"

" _Hello! You've reached the Hatake residence! Sakumo and I aren't here to receive your call so please leave your name and number after the beep. We'll get back to you shortly!"_ Miyako's cheerful voice rang out in the familiar voice message. Curiously, Sakumo finally moved at the sound of the recording as a shudder ran through his body.

Said beep was cut off by a stranger's voice _. "Hello, this is Nurse Emi from the hospital again. I'm sorry to bother you, but we need to know what you're planning to do with the body. Could you give us a call back as soon as possible? My extension is 245. Thank you."_

This time, it was Kotone who shivered. Body? What body? What was going on? Where was Miyako?

"Sakumo," Kotone repeated again. She leaned down to peer at her old teammate's face and the worry that had been planted by that voice message bloomed instantaneously. The odor was overpowering at this proximity and and Kotone had to keep a tight lid on her instinctive reaction to recoil so that she could investigate more closely. Sakumo's face was uncharacteristically wan. There were dark shadows under his red, swollen eyes and a few days' worth of stubble invading his chin. Sakumo hated any hint of stubble and he religiously carried out his shaving ritual twice a day. It caught at his mask, he grumbled. Miyako hated it too.

At the thought of Miyako, Kotone started. "Sakumo," she pressed urgently. "Where is Miyako?"

Tired eyes rolled up to meet hers unseeingly and Sakumo remained silent. The pieces fell together all at once and Kotone slowly straightened in shock. She looked around desperately, seeking some explanation, some answer, some help.

Her attention snapped to the baby that hadn't ceased crying and suddenly, she found her purpose. She knew what she had to do. Kotone reached out to take the baby, but Sakumo curled up around it defensively.

"No". His voice was gravelly from disuse.

"He needs a diaper change and he needs to be fed," she explained slowly, using the gentle sort of voice one used with wounded ninja.

Sakumo didn't relent. "No," he said a second time.

"Okay," Kotone replied simply. And then she walked around to his unsuspecting back and laid a simple sleeping genjutsu on him. Sakumo didn't stand a chance in his catatonic state. She scooped the baby safely out of harm's way as Sakumo tumbled to the ground unconscious and found herself using every ounce of will to resist the urge to drop the baby. The blue blanket swaddling the babe was soaked through and dripping with excrement. A glance at Sakumo's slumped body revealed that the front of his hospital gown was stained with the same filth. How long had it been since they'd returned from the hospital? How long had they been like this, both forsaken in their own ways?

* * *

Death was glorified. Death was noble. Death was nothing to fear. Or so claimed the poets and artists. _Propaganda_ , realized the ninja who was most acquainted with the subject matter.

It could be all of these things, but death was usually unremarkable, undignified, and fucking terrifying.

Kotone, along with most of the village, had fallen into an unassuming complacency brought on by peacetime. None of her friends had been in any danger of dying in the past few years so Miyako's death left her feeling winded and exposed, as if she'd been struck hard in the stomach and was awaiting the killing blow in the midst of her vulnerability.

This had her dredging up dark, morbid thoughts she had thought were long buried and forgotten. In an attempt to stave off her demons, she kept to the task at hand which was thankfully urgent and messy enough to serve as a true distraction. She busied herself with divesting the baby of the unholy cloth that had kept him lying in his own filth for days and threw it unceremoniously in the trash. Then, she stripped Sakumo of that reeking hospital gown and folded it over to act as a makeshift blanket for the naked baby. Both the gown and the discarded blanket would have to be burned at some point, and the house fumigated for good measure. Then as she gently dragged Sakumo to the nearby couch, she welcomed the sight of his boxers and then bit her tongue when she remembered that he'd have worn the same dirty pair for a few days now. But that would have to do for now; she didn't want to risk waking him for the sake of clean underwear.

As Kotone carried the baby to the bathroom to be washed, she recognized that at the very least, Miyako would be afforded a proper burial unlike those poor souls that hadn't been laid to rest during the war. Burial was a luxury and each hidden village observed its own rites in accordance with the country that housed it.

Konoha, in the Land of Fire, traditionally cremated its fallen ninja and planted trees over their ashes, adding to the forest that hid the village, so that they could continue protecting their home. Kotone thought that this was easily the best tradition and she discounted the niggling idea that she was biased to the ways of her home. She couldn't help it-the other villages ranged from eclectic at best to barbaric at worst.

For instance, deceased Kiri-nin were sent off in waves channeled by their families, eventually coming to rest in the Dead Sea whose waters were so inhospitable to life that it contained only legions of corpses preserved by the high salt levels. Their eyes clouded over in their white, sunken faces and gazed blankly up at the world as their long, billowing hair imitated groves of seaweed and kelp. Rumor had it that those truly monstrous ninja of Kirigakure owed their unnatural appearance to drinking from and bathing in these still waters.

In Suna, dead ninja were mummified as they were buried underneath large, lonely dunes of sand. It was pure foolishness to attempt to stage a battle on Suna's home turf. For one thing, the local flora and fauna alone could damn well defend the country through deadly poisons and toxins. And for another, the Puppet Corps were trained to reanimate the dead from where they rested below the sand. These real, decomposing bodies didn't compare with the carefully crafted artificial ones the puppeteers employed in battle, but their value was in their unpredictability as they sprang up randomly from the sand. The wooden puppets were creepy enough; these grotesque zombies with desiccated, eyeless faces petrified the unprepared in place and could make even the most elite ninja stumble in shock. Such a weakness could and would be exploited. As a result, Konoha liked to steer clear from the Land of Wind in an effort to avoid these walking dead.

So, Kotone thought it was pretty safe to say that Konoha was the most humane in its burial customs and that Miyako was in good hands.

* * *

By the time Sakumo awoke and sprang from the couch to confront his baby's kidnapper, Kotone had washed and fed the baby, called Emi-san and made arrangements for Miyako's body to be sent to the coroner, and had received a few estimates for a simple ceremony from various funeral homes. It seemed that living wasn't the only human activity that had exorbitant expenses. Dying too, turned out to be a whole enterprise and she was left with a headache from dealing with the bureaucratic nonsense and the affidavits and permits that the cemetery containing the Hatake plot required. Kotone herself didn't have any familial ties to the Hatake clan so she wasn't authorized to _really_ accomplish anything. Still, dealing with the practical aspect of death had kept Kotone productive and in the end, she managed to at least jot down a few important names and numbers for Sakumo to call when he was ready.

And speak of the devil. She felt Sakumo's agitated chakra rush towards her from where she sat in the rocking chair in the half-finished baby room. It stopped, lingered in the doorway, and then entered fully.

Kotone looked up at Sakumo with a finger to her lips. Everyone knew what that gesture meant in the context of children and no one dared violate the quiet and delicate sanctity of a sleeping baby. She had chosen her battleground well, knowing that Sakumo wouldn't fight her here despite her earlier betrayal.

He made his way to her slowly like a man walking to his own execution. His eyes briefly caught on the stuffed wolf doll resting in Kotone's lap and then he joined her in regarding the baby sleeping in the crib. They stayed like that for a while as Kotone mentally drafted and discarded words to fill this awful silence.

At last, she simply remarked. "He's beautiful. What's his name?"

"Kakashi."

"Kakashi. Hatake Kakashi," she mused. "That means scarecrow, doesn't it? Why Kakashi?"

Sakumo's eyes closed and he didn't breathe for a moment. "Miyako chose it. So that he could scare away the enemies and protect the land."

Ice settled in her stomach at Sakumo's mention of Miyako but Kotone nodded politely. "Kakashi," she repeated slowly, feeling the letters form on her tongue. "That's a fine name for a fine boy."

She looked at Sakumo whose back had slumped down from its usual proud line. His forced rest had been too short to fix the swollen eyes and the sallow complexion. "I took the liberty of making arrangements for Miyako's bo—Miyako," she amended hastily. "But you need to call the hospital yourself to finalize everything. I also got quotes from a few places. You'll find a list on the kitchen table," She shrugged as she explained. "It's not much, but it should help. Oh, I fed and bathed Kakashi too."

Taking care of the baby had been the easy part in this whole mess. He'd latched onto her breast without any prodding, didn't bite, and fed happily. He didn't even fuss when she had bathed him. Little Kakashi was a veritable angel compared to Nezumi.

She rose from the rocking chair and walked over to the crib to place the stuffed wolf doll next to the sleeping baby. "I'll be back tomorrow with some supplies. In the meantime… Sakumo, please take care of yourself. The baby will be okay—just make sure he doesn't flip over in his sleep or anything. But you… take care of yourself," she ended lamely.

Kotone made to leave with that, but her feet brought her to stand face to face with Sakumo. The man hadn't moved and he remained in the same position with his eyes closed. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. "Please, look after yourself. Do it for Miyako. Do it for the baby. You're a father now and you… you're all he has."

Nothing discernable changed in Sakumo's posture but she hoped he could hear her.

Finally, his eyelids opened and he fixed her with a heavy, weary gaze. "Thank you, Kotone," he murmured in a low voice.

On her way out, she walked through the strong, pleasant aroma emitted by the apple pie that Tanaka-san had entrusted her with. _Miyako's favorite._ Kotone hesitated and then scooped up the dish and took it with her, not willing to let Sakumo deal alone with such a potent reminder of his late wife.

* * *

She was walking along a corridor that was reminiscent of the run-down Brooklyn studio she had rented in grad school. A closer look revealed familiar corroded brass numbers and chipped green paint on the doors. She looked down and found a threadbare grey carpet bearing tell-tale signs of drunk passersby. Her feet moved naturally. She didn't need to think about where she was going or how to get there. Instinct made her climb to the fifth floor and find room 5A.

And then it was there in front of her—the beloved sign _5A_ with faint scratches met her eyes. With some trepidation, she turned the doorknob, simultaneously surprised by and anticipating the way it opened without resistance. She entered and confirmed that it _was_ her old apartment, from the cracked leather couch she had picked up off the street to the neat rows of pictures hanging from paperclips and twine decorating the far right wall.

She ventured hesitantly into the room, pausing here and there to look at her personal effects. Next to the front door was a sparsely populated shoe rack. The sight of her beaten up boots made her smile fondly as she remembered drunken nights. On the opposite wall, there were two bookcases, filled partially with textbooks she had paid for with the meager wages of a sales associate that she couldn't bring herself to sell when the term was over. At the time, she had been near destitute, living off ramen and pasta. She wouldn't have received much for those books but they would have, at the very least, provided some means for another month's rent or some better groceries. But she couldn't bear the thought of strangers pawing carelessly over those carefully annotated pages. All of those books had been highlighted and marked with post-its. Each page had been pored over laboriously and had become a part of her.

She glided past them, running a hand lovingly along the spines and then she walked over to her unmade bed and sat down, fingering the cheap blue sheets as tilted her head to read the back of the book lying on her bedside table. Her fingers caught on a stiff patch and she looked down curiously to investigate. Belatedly, she realized that they were her "sex sheets", as her friends had so affectionately called them. Indeed, there were incriminating stains sprinkled liberally throughout and she jumped up in disgust, wringing her hands ineffectually. She wasn't even at fault for most of them—drunk, horny partygoers inevitably made their way to fuck on any flat surface, horizontal or otherwise, and her sheets had been one such casualty. It was funny though, she thought absentmindedly. She could have sworn she had thrown those out ages ago.

That brought her to her closet door. She opened it and perused the contents with a critical eye. What had she been thinking? There was no order here. There were some hoodies bearing the logos of her past schools and some blazers and cardigans and blouses interspersed with a diverse mix of lacy, glittery, slinky things. She plucked up a sheer white piece of lace that couldn't even pass for a bra in disbelief. That couldn't possibly be hers. Then unwittingly, she conjured up the memory of a younger self just barely covered in that scrap of cloth, leading a man to her bed with a half-lidded gaze promising wicked things.

She flushed. _Oh._ She dropped the poor excuse for clothing and slammed the closet door abruptly. This trip down the memory lane was only revealing her deplorable, wayward past. Then she froze at the reflection in the closet-door mirror.

She whirled around, looking for the black-haired infant she had spotted in the mirror. But there was nobody behind her. She turned slowly to face the mirror again, perplexed and uneasy. The baby was still in the mirror, now looking at her quizzically. She reached out with a hand and watched as the baby mimicked her movements. Their hands met on the mirror and that was when she noticed that her hand was disturbingly small and pudgy. She lowered her head to examine the rest of her body and couldn't help but notice the baby in the mirror following her movements exactly. Her stomach sank. She had the body of a newborn infant. She realized that _she_ was the baby reflected in the mirror. Her body dysmorphia had apparently followed her into her subconscious.

" **Stop that,"** an annoyed voice rang out.

She raised her head in alarm and looked around in confusion before sighting the three figures that had sprouted behind the baby in that blasted mirror. She recognized them. They were all _her_ —well, the _her_ she had been before the baby.

"Who are you? What's going on?" she asked stupidly, in spite of herself.

The one on the right stepped forward, clothing itself in academic regalia as it approached. It was translucent almost to the point of being invisible. " **I'm Reason,"** it said.

The one on the left was next. " **I'm Desire,"** it said with a lazy smile as the blue sex sheets materialized to cloak its naked figure. Desire looked a little more solid than Reason.

And finally, the one in the middle came and sat naked next to the infant. **"I am Spirit,"** it said blandly **.** It was by far the most corporeal of the three.

" **Isn't it obvious? We're you and you're us. Including Nezumi."** Reason continued after they named themselves, gesturing to the infant.

"Huh? No. That's not true." she said steadily. "I'm 'Well Adjusted'. I'm not schizophrenic. I don't have multiple personalities. And I'm not a baby. This isn't real; it's just a dream."

" **Is that right? Is that what you really think?"** Reason inquired, cocking its head to gaze down at her. **"Are dreams not real?"**

"Wow. Nope, this isn't happening. I won't be psychoanalyzed by my own subconscious. That's not the way it works." She muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Reason sighed in exasperation. **"Stop that. You're in denial."**

Desire giggled, **"Oh, Reason. You're so overbearing. Just let her believe what she wants."**

"Wait," she interjected, her curiosity piqued. Perhaps a little soul-searching would reveal something about her predicament. It couldn't hurt, right? "What exactly am I denying? Who is Nezumi?"

Reason looked triumphantly at Desire and gained some color and dimension. The stole and chevron stripes adorning her black robes took on a more vibrant shade of red. Reason replied, **"Those questions concern the same thing, you see. I'll say it again—you're Nezumi and Nezumi is you."** Reason patted the baby's head. **"Don't you see? You're a baby. You're the baby you see in the mirror. You keep denying that."**

She laughed humorlessly, rolling her eyes. "That's a good joke. I'm not a baby, I'm an adult. Look at the room we're in. That's my bed, those are my shoes, those are my pictures, those are my clothes. They can't possibly belong to that baby in the mirror."

" **Yes, look,"** Reason said gently. **"Look at your pictures. Don't you see that they're blank? Don't you see how your shoes have disappeared from the shoe rack? Don't you see how your books have disappeared? Look and** _ **question**_ **and** _ **think**_ **. Why are you in this decrepit studio you rented in grad school? Why are your dirty sheets still here?"**

She looked around suspiciously at the items indicated and was perturbed to see that Reason was right. Her apartment was filled with her belongings, but there was something lacking. There were strange gaps in her bookshelf and her shoe rack. She turned back to face Reason and folded her fat baby arms defensively, "This is just a dream. None of this means anything."

" **But it does,"** Reason replied sadly. **"Don't you see that you're regressing and losing pieces of your past life? Already, you've forgotten your name and the memories captured by those photos. Look. Look and see how they're already being replaced by your memories as Nezumi."**

She started to shake in anger and her anger rose further when she noticed 'Spirit' twitching agitatedly with an unsettling synchrony. She launched a furious retort, "What are you talking about? My name is—my name is…! my name is.. my name…?" She faltered and her anger was snuffed out in an instant. She looked down at those small, pudgy hands that felt so foreign to her and saw 'Spirit' calming out of the corner of her eye.

"What is my name?" she asked in a small voice. She chanced another cautious look at the photos Reason had referred to. The images had indeed disappeared, leaving behind solemn rows of empty, black squares framed in white borders. There was only one image left. There it was, an infant held by a prim black-haired woman, looked after by a man with a kind face. That was the final nail in her very own coffin. She began to despair.

"What happened to me?" she asked, hopelessly. A part of her knew and dreaded the answer that was to follow.

Reason knelt next to the baby. **"Your name is Nezumi now. I think... I think you died."**

She shook her head furiously. "No", she bit out. "That's not true. It's not true. I didn't die. I'm not dead. Besides, human beings die and that's it. There's no such thing as the afterlife. This is just a dream and it'll all be over soon." She tried to pick herself up to escape this madness, but her limbs had again declared mutiny against her will. The futility of the situation that had slowly been building up over the past few days suddenly hit her all at once and she was overcome with tears. "I'm not dead! What is going on? Why can't I wake up? What happened to me? What do I do?" she cried.

She saw Desire yawn through a veil of tears. **"Oh, you're so boring. Stop being so damn pathetic for starters. Face it-no matter what happened, you're still here, kid."**

That just made her cry harder. "I don't believe you. This isn't real", she whimpered petulantly, for the first time feeling very much like the squalling infant reflected in the mirror.

Reason sighed and repeated a third time. **"Stop that."**

She looked up and regarded the figures in the mirror. The baby had an ugly flush on its face accompanied by tears and snot. "If I died, why are you here? If I really died, shouldn't you have died along with old me? You're not a part of this," she said, gesturing to the baby that bore no resemblance to the women in the mirror. "This can't be real," she uttered those words with a forced conviction. They were her holy mantra, her prayer, and she wanted so desperately for them to be true.

Reason smiled at her query. **"We—Reason, Desire, and Spirit—are the most potent and essential parts of your soul. Your memories will fail and disappear as surely as those pictures on the wall. But you've always known that memory is unreliable. We, on the other hand, won't be banished so easily. I am Reason. I am your quest for truth and knowledge."**

Desire waved a hand indolently through the sex-stained sheets. **"I'm Desire. I'm the part of you that craves and hungers for food, drink, and sex."**

Spirit finally chimed in, speaking tonelessly. **"I am Spirit. You know me in fear, passion, anger, and love. I am the most basic and simple of the three of us. As such, I am ruled by Reason or Desire."**

Reason and Desire regarded each other distastefully at these words while she scanned her suddenly unfamiliar apartment, desperate for something to anchor her in this maelstrom of confusion. She couldn't help but notice the discrepancies that Reason had pointed out, and for the life of her, she couldn't remember what her apartment had looked like in its heyday. She just knew that there had been many things she had taken for granted, that were now missing entirely. The vestiges of her past life were just barely hanging on dusty cobwebs.

She looked frantically back at the three women in the mirror and felt comforted by their presence in spite of her doubt. She couldn't quite believe that they were really _her_ , but she could at least believe that they _looked_ like her. And that was enough to get her by.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked plaintively, terrified at the thought of losing them too.

" **We** _ **are**_ **you, silly girl,"** Desire replied flippantly. **"So yeah, we're with you whether you like it or not."**

"How can I believe that? All of those pictures and books and shoes disappeared so easily. How do I know I won't lose myself?"

Spirit spoke in that same unaffected tone. **"I have been with you from the beginning. Fear is the most primal emotion."**

" **Look,"** Reason prodded again, but with a soothing tenderness in her voice. **"Look at what's left. You're here in this sad apartment because it was so important to you. This is where you prepared for your life's calling. This is the roof that you paid for with your own hard-earned money. This is where you wrote your dissertation, learned how to cook, threw parties—this is the home you made with your own two hands and this is where you became an independent human being. Those are the boots that lasted you from high school through grad school. Those are the sheets you made love on for the first time. Those are the textbooks that gave you the knowledge you sought so fervently."**

Reason pointed to the wall of empty photos. **"You know—don't deny it—that wall was simply a decoration, an attempt to personalize. Those pictures didn't really hold any precious memories. The ones you treasure are still with you, in us. We are here."**

"Then why don't I remember my name?" she whispered. "Surely my name, of all things, was important to me?"

 **"'What's in a name? That which we call a rose. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet** , **'"** Reason quoted with a wry grin. **"We're not omniscient; we only know what you know. That's a mystery we'll have to solve together. But for now, take comfort in the fact that you're not Nobody. You're Nezumi now."**

"Nezumi," she repeated blankly. "You know I still don't believe any of this, right?"

" **Of course,"** Reason said simply.

Desire chose to interrupt at that moment, sauntering forward from where she had been lounging carelessly behind Reason **. "** _ **Or**_ **you can always just indulge in your basic desires and avoid all this complicated, metaphysical nonsense. Don't forget that's an option—a smart one too. This oh so** _ **noble**_ **quest for truth will be long and hard and probably fruitless. The project of knowledge can never be completed. You might never uncover your old name, your old identity, your old memories. And the more you know, the more you suffer. It's far easier to live a life of pleasure. Ignore this annoying gadfly, Reason. I can make you forget."** Desire extended an imperious hand, as if bestowing a grand favor.

Reason scoffed, slapping Desire's hand away. **"You're a damn hypocrite, Desire. If you had your way, she'd just be an insatiable addict looking only for her next high."**

Desire sniffed disdainfully, poking at the stiff white stains in her makeshift attire.

Wavering eyes flicked back and forth from Reason to Desire and then she shook her head tiredly. "I don't know. This is all just a dream to me."

" **Maybe it is a dream,"** Reason conceded graciously. **"But aren't all dreams based on reality?"**


	5. Without Family

Such the man in Homer, who is reviled for being without society, without law, without family.

\- Aristotle, _Politics_

* * *

 _Ch. 5 Without Family_

The sun had just disappeared below the horizon and today's line of people with it. At last, alone and uninterrupted, Hiruzen heaved out a long sigh and lit his pipe. The sweet smell of tobacco rose up through the air as he took one long drag and leaned back in his chair. Biwako would be waiting at home with dinner set on the table and tales of baby Asuma's misadventures, but he didn't want to return to the Sarutobi residence. Not yet. He wanted just one moment for himself, to catch a few breaths, collect his thoughts, and to smoke in peace without Biwako nagging him about the awful effects of both first and secondhand smoking.

But it looked like this was just a pipe dream. A familiar chakra signature approached and before long, three knocks sounded against the door to the office. Hiruzen eyed it tiredly and took another drag. He sighed out a puff of smoke and straightened in his seat before he said, "Come in."

A tan, black-haired man wearing a simple brown yukata entered the office. "Hokage-sama," he said, tilting his head in deference.

"Danzo," Hiruzen greeted in turn, motioning with his free hand to the seat in front of him. "Please, have a seat."

As his old friend and advisor walked forward and sat down, Hiruzen raised his pipe to his lips and breathed in thoughtfully. It wasn't unusual for them to meet after hours, but it was a little strange that they were doing so in the absence of the rest of the Council.

"What can I do for you?" Hiruzen asked without preamble from behind a trail of white smoke.

Danzo reached into his yukata to pull out a small journal of sorts. He set it on the table and slid it across. "I have a proposal to make," he said simply, gesturing at Hiruzen to peruse the contents of the book.

Hiruzen tapped his pipe into the ash tray then set it aside in favor of examining the book that Danzo had offered. Inside, there were tables and charts denoting the scores of a select number of academy students. He flipped through the pages and raised an eyebrow. These scores were terrible and quite disappointing in light of the extra funding that had recently gone into the Academy.

He fixed Danzo with a heavy look. "Where did you get these numbers from?"

Danzo returned the look with serious eyes and stroked the scar on his chin as he delivered his findings. "I've kept correspondence with a few teachers at the Academy. Mochizuki Chiyome and Takeda Yanao to name a couple. As you can see, they've noted that students who come from Konoha Orphanage score very poorly and tend to have behavioral issues that make them difficult to manage in class. Chiyome-sensei in particular has told me that class averages are being pulled down almost _exclusively_ by these orphaned students. Apparently, the orphanage lacks the facilities for these children to study and as a result, they often show up to class unprepared. And it seems that they are prone to seeking attention through disruptive behaviors, thereby distracting their fellow classmates."

Hiruzen could see where this was going and leaned forward to place his elbows on the table. He resisted the urge to light his pipe again by resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. "There's not much we can do for those orphans. Konoha already covers their schooling fees. I understand that the orphanage has long exceeded maximum capacity but we can't afford to build more housing units or hire more caretakers. It's… regrettable that these children are faring so poorly and that they lack a suitable environment for studying, but they do at least have the option of going to the library. Let the teachers know to advertise it to their students. The self-motivated student can find all the resources he needs there for free. As for the rest… We're already sucked dry as it is. You know this."

"Yes, Konoha lacks the resources to care for these children. As you know, the Academy relies on alumni donations and support from the clans. And yes, given that they pass the entrance exam, orphans can attend the Academy on the scholarship that we provide. But the problem is that several clans have come forward with complaints that their children's performances have suffered because of the presence of these orphans. They've threatened to revoke their support of the Academy."

Hiruzen decided that there was no point in fighting the urge to re-light his pipe, but the tobacco didn't relieve his rising frustration. It was true. Several clan heads, most notably those of the Uchiha and Hyuuga, had come to him with demands that the 'obstructers of education' be expelled. "So you propose that we abandon these orphans? Should we remove them from the Academy to curry favor from the clans?"

"That is not what I am suggesting," Danzo said with a shake of his head. "There's something better we can do for these poor children."

"Oh? Really now? What is it you're suggesting then?" Hiruzen asked wearily, without any real curiosity. Maybe he should have headed home straight after closing hours instead. Biwako would be wrapping up his untouched plate and tossing it in the fridge right about now and when he finally got home, she'd be sure to scold him angrily for neglecting his family.

Danzo propped his elbows up on his chair's armrests, settling further into his chair. "I propose lifting those students out of the Academy and placing them in a special program to bring them up to par. In this program, they'll receive the undivided attention of their teachers as well as a curriculum personalized to fit each child's skill set. Additionally, they will receive housing and the appropriate facilities for their studies."

Hiruzen gave Danzo a sharp look and frowned. "Again, we lack the money."

"We can redistribute the money set aside for scholarships as well as some of the funds allocated to Konoha Orphanage. The substantial decrease in the number of children should relieve the overflow at the orphanage and allow for lower food and utility costs," Danzo replied readily.

"That won't be enough," Hiruzen responded, running the numbers through his head. "It isn't that simple. The cost of building such facilities _alone_ would empty us. And then the cost of hiring teachers, and feeding and housing these children... It's too much."

Danzo hesitated at this. "The Daimyo's wife is a kind woman with a special place in her heart for children orphaned by the war. She has promised her endorsement as well as a sizable sum that will cover the logistical fees," he admitted at length.

Ah. There it was—the underhanded trickery Danzo often employed to meet his ends.

"And when," Hiruzen asked slowly, taking another puff of his pipe, "did you contact Shijimi-sama?" A plume of smoke floated towards Danzo's implacable face. "You _have_ been keeping busy with your correspondences, I see."

"You cannot fault me for my desire to better the lives of Konoha's children," Danzo replied carefully.

Hiruzen smiled wryly. "Old friend, this is most unlike you. In all these years, I haven't known you to care so deeply for the weak and powerless."

A more characteristic reply came from the scarred man. "They are weak and powerless now without the proper motivations. As they are neglected and unacknowledged at the orphanage, at the Academy, they will never amount to anything. Their true mettle goes untested. It is my desire to equip them with the ability and the unshakeable will to serve their village."

"How do you envision these children serving their village?"

Danzo laced his fingers together and gathered his thoughts for a moment. "Konoha has entered a new era—an era of peace and hope. Your students are renowned throughout the nations as exemplars of teamwork and friendship. And I understand that it is your wish to impart the Will of Fire that we received from our predecessors to this current generation of academy students. They are the future after all, and it is wise to invest in them... But who will fight the darkness that spreads and threatens this fragile peace? Will you call upon the precious children of Konoha to confront the shadows? Will you expose them to the harsh truths of the world?"

Quite unwittingly, Hiruzen conjured up the memories of his students as young, innocent genin, once happily united. There was Tsunade, dangling a bell teasingly at a bound Jiraiya with Orochimaru smiling shyly from the side. There was Jiraiya, unleashing pent-up teenage angst to Orochimaru at the sight of Tsunade walking away with Dan. There was Orochimaru, offering a hand to Jiraiya after he'd been pummeled into the ground by a fondled Tsunade.

And then these warm memories were replaced by the cold reality of their current forms. He thought Tsunade, disillusioned and forever scarred despite her mastery of healing. He thought of Jiraiya and his vain but earnest attempts to redeem himself of his role in the war by picking up the strays left behind. He thought of Orochimaru, his brilliant, brilliant student who had retreated from society, profoundly shaken by the horrors he had witnessed. The juxtaposition was jarring.

When had they slipped out from below his protective wing? Where had he failed them?

Hiruzen shut his eyes tightly as a wave of fatigue crashed into him. "This is the world that we live in, Danzo. We can't protect them forever."

"How many more names will you see engraved on that stone? Let the nameless defend Konoha from the shadows," Danzo offered simply.

Hiruzen opened his eyes and looked at Danzo darkly. "We owe these orphans a great debt. They gave us their parents, their families. We will not abandon them to combat the horrors of this world alone. Have you forgotten that they too are children of Konoha worth protecting?"

"How are we protecting them?" Danzo countered, meeting his gaze steadily. "Can you truly say that they are better off as they are now, perceived as burdens and resented by their peers? They will never find the care and attention that they need to flourish and realize their potential as they rot away at that god-forsaken orphanage."

"From whom would they receive care and attention in the program that you propose? How will training these children as soldiers be a better alternative?"

"Your student, Orochimaru, has pledged his support," Danzo said blandly.

It was so typical of Danzo to weave in these subtle manipulations and today's topic was masterfully chosen. Orphans. Students. Hiruzen had failed them both.

Hiruzen didn't enjoy being manipulated like this—especially with mentions to distant students. But still, he grudgingly conceded that bringing Orochimaru into the fold was a wise move. It was a perfect fit—Orochimaru himself was an orphan and could surely empathize with these children. And not only would this ploy bring Orochimaru back into the affairs of the village, it would also provide the orphaned students with an impressive role model and an accomplished scholar for a teacher.

The anger drained out of him, leaving him feeling cold and empty. It was now very late in the evening and the two of them were sitting in darkness. With one hand, he lit the desk lamp as he weighed the pros and cons of Danzo's pet project.

At last, he remarked, "You've thought long and hard about this."

"Yes I have," Danzo agreed. Then he added another consideration. "There's a plot of land near the Uchiha compound that looks promising."

The conversation was moving into a safer territory now, beyond the sensitive area inhabited by his students.

Danzo continued to pitch his idea, seeing an opening. "This is the better alternative. It has backing and approval from the Daimyo. And through this, we will pacify the clans, ensure a future for these orphans, and fill the depleted supply of ANBU officers."

At this, Hiruzen narrowed his eyes. "ANBU you say? You want to train these children for ANBU?"

"You've seen for yourself—they've performed terribly at the Academy. They are unmotivated and a hindrance to serious students," Danzo said, gesturing again to the book still lying on the table. "And as long as they remain there, they will only incite animosity from their peers and benefactors. But as potential ANBU operatives, they will have a concrete goal to aspire to. It is good to provide them with a purpose."

"ANBU is not a simple child's game. It is rigorous, it is dangerous… To promise a child to ANBU's ranks is to condemn him." Hiruzen regarded the man in front of him, slowly piecing his words together. "For this to work, in order for this program to truly benefit those children, they must have the opportunity to determine their own futures. This you must understood."

Danzo nodded his head twice. "Of course, Hokage-sama. Shall I begin making preparations?"

"First, I will thank Shijimi-sama personally for her contributions," Hiruzen said, feeling the need to follow through and confirm the information that Danzo had fed him tonight. While he was at it, he would take a short field trip to the Academy and Konoha Orphanage too. Then he eyed Danzo squarely. "And I have a question."

"I will do my best to answer any questions you may have," Danzo said, bowing his head humbly.

"Why the need for such secrecy? Why not hold a proper council meeting for such a serious matter?" Hiruzen asked bluntly.

Danzo sat up straight and returned Hiruzen's gaze. "I had my doubts that news of Shijimi-sama's generosity would focus the Council's concerns elsewhere. There are surely other pressing matters that require our care—they would certainly benefit from the promised money. A proper council meeting would have consisted of much debate over the usage of such a large sum of money. But it is my belief that these children have gone neglected for too long. Time is of essence here. The clans await our response to their complaints and Konoha Orphanage is on the verge of exploding. I strongly urge a proactive stance on this particular issue."

As Hokage, Hiruzen had almost exclusive authority over the proceedings of the village, but he held his chosen council advisors in high regard. Their advice and input allowed him to escape from his limited perspective. And furthermore, he could reduce his immense burden by dividing some of his responsibilities among the council members.

But, the downside was that their limited time was often wasted arguing bitterly over even the most inconsequential matters. Danzo had a point here—this issue concerning the orphans would have to be dealt with swiftly.

Hiruzen made up his mind. "Begin the preparations. I will draft a letter of thanks to the Daimyo."

"By your command, Hokage-sama."

With that, Danzo rose, bowed deeply, and walked away. But as he began to turn the door handle, Hiruzen interrupted him with a final thought—a _warning_.

"Danzo, abandon the desire to train these children as soldiers. Konoha will _not_ see another war. I charge you with a mission to raise them as citizens of Konoha."

The scarred man inclined his head at Hiruzen, acknowledging the command. "They will be Konoha's finest," he promised.

Then he was gone.

His little black journal remained on the desk mockingly—a sign of how Hiruzen had once again failed the children in his care. Hopefully, this time around, he would see to their success and happiness.

* * *

It was a beautiful sunny day, infused with the crisp autumn air and decorated with swirling, dancing leaves of orange and brown.

Word had spread that cheerful Miyako had died in childbirth and many came, dressed in their black formal gear, to attend the ceremony to pay their respects. The funeral was simple and elegant, officiated by Fire monks garbed in muted orange robes.

In the center of the sea of black was a funeral pyre constructed out of sweet-smelling pine. Miyako was laid out on top with her hitai-ate nestled in her folded hands. The coroner had transformed a grey corpse into a sleeping beauty.

The head monk nodded his head to Sakumo, communicating some kind of message that had the white-haired jounin passing off the sleeping infant in his arms to Kotone. He approached the pyre and laid a tender hand on Miyako's cheek for a moment before retrieving a knife from the folds of his sleeve.

Today, like many of the other ninja in audience, Sakumo had foregone wearing his hitai-ate and its absence was made starkly apparent as he retrieved a knife from the folds of his sleeve and cut the long, white ponytail at the base of his neck.

A few strands of hair fluttered away, joining the leaves on the ground. But he took no notice of these stragglers as he placed the severed ponytail, still bound by its string, with the hitai-ate in Miyako's hands. His hands lingered on hers, but with one last look, he pulled away and returned to Kotone to reclaim his child.

The monks surrounded the four sides of the pyre and began chanting some holy mantra as the head monk set a torch to the straw at the base of the pyre. White fire caught and consumed the straw hungrily, rising up around the structure until Miyako was surrounded. She stayed there, looking so peaceful and serene and utterly unaffected by the flames that rose to engulf her. Eventually, the fire closed in to consume her as well and soon, there was only a smoldering heap of ashes where Miyako had once lain.

Sakumo was called forward to plant a seed in the ashes. It was a difficult task with a baby in the way, but there was no one else to help him.

After that, as was customary, the family of the deceased stood to receive blessings and condolences from the attendees at the funeral. But unfortunately, there was only one solitary figure to greet. The rest of his family stood behind him, memorialized by the trees planted in their graves. Sakumo took the words of his well-wishers with grace, pausing here and there to ease Kakashi back into sleep. But even with a baby in his arms and his friends all around him, he stood there looking so very alone.


	6. Through the Looking Glass

"Who are you?" said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I _was_ when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."

What do you mean by that?" said the Caterpillar sternly. "Explain yourself!"

"I can't explain _myself_ , I'm afraid, sir" said Alice, "because I'm not myself, you see."

Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

* * *

 _Chapter 6. Through the Looking Glass_

Nezumi felt the disapproval radiating off Oka-san as she took her time surveying the psychiatrist and his office. Instead of the familiar chaise lounge that usually occupied the offices of her old world, there was a simple wooden chair. The office itself was rather Spartan in décor, bearing none of the soft, homey touches that were supposed to put the patient at ease. And then she studied the psychiatrist himself. At least this one didn't have unnatural hair. And so far, he hadn't made the attempt to assault her head with those strange, glowing hands that made her ache something awful. He was just sitting there innocuously, scribbling something down on his notepad. That was plebian enough.

"Does she have to be here?" Nezumi asked baldly, pointing directly at the woman sitting behind her. If she was going to be subjected to the prodding of a psychiatrist proper, she didn't want the added scrutiny of Oka-san. God knows the woman already thought her strange enough. And if the man tried using jazz hands on her, she'd scream. She was rather good at that.

The psychiatrist paused his scribbling to look over his journal and peer down at her. "Yes," he returned. And then he went back to his scribbling.

Nezumi frowned, questioning the legitimacy of his practice before pressing the issue. "Why?"

"Does it bother you that your mother is here?"

"Yes."

The psychiatrist set his journal down on his desk. "Why?"

"Patient confidentiality," she replied promptly. "These sorts of things ought to be private so that the patient can be more forthcoming with sharing her experiences. And the presence of such a familiar authority figure can skew the information offered…" She struggled for a moment, trying to translate her next words from technical English jargon to the weird subtype of Japanese spoken here. "Subliminal influencing? If you get my meaning." She wondered if Freud's ideas would have any purchase here.

The rough scratch of pen on paper was the only response Nezumi had for a moment. And then the psychiatrist inclined his head towards Oka-san. "If you please, Kotone-san," he said, gesturing at the door.

Nezumi turned around in her chair to watch Oka-san sign away rapidly with her hands. A glance back revealed that the psychiatrist was responding fluently with some hand signals of his own. They were literally talking behind her back, keeping her out of the loop of her own life. She felt her face tighten and recognized that she was probably sporting an ugly scowl. She set her mind to rearranging her face, but she couldn't help it—it took a lot of focus to control her three-year old body and oftentimes her impulses and emotions got the better of her.

The door opened and closed quietly, jarring Nezumi out of her thoughts. Oka-san was always so damn silent. It was creepy as hell.

The psychiatrist returned his impassive gaze to her. "Your mother worries about you. Do you know that?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think she worries about you?"

"Because I'm precious."

"Ah, that's probably true," the psychiatrist said, nodding his head sagely. "But I think you mean _precocious_." He jotted down another line in his journal.

Nezumi felt her face heat up. "It's hard to talk," she mumbled unhappily. He had better not be recording her blunder.

"Yes, yes, but you're doing admirably well nonetheless. _Precocious_ indeed," he said more to himself than to her. He flipped a few pages on his clipboard. "You began talking at 8 months, reading at 2 years. That's very quick—you shouldn't be disappointed with yourself. Do you often get frustrated if you can't articulate yourself well?"

She hesitated. "It's not just that… I know I can communicate well enough… It's just that people don't listen to me when I talk. They all treat me like a baby. And when I mess up…" She waved her hands around helplessly. "They laugh. I know they think it's cute, but makes me feel stupid."

More scribbling. And then the psychiatrist asked, "Do your parents treat you like a baby?"

"No…?" She thought for a moment. "For the most part, they listen to what I say and respect my wishes. Daddy brings me serious literature even if he likes to tease me about it. That's okay, I guess. Oka-san tries not to do stuff with chakra around me since she knows I'm sensitive. But they think I'm weird. I can tell."

"How can you tell?"

Nezumi studied the psychiatrist who just waited patiently, pen at the ready. "I'm here, aren't I?" she said dryly.

"Ah, I suppose. Tell me more. How does it make you feel?"

"They always give me concerned looks and argue about me in their room. I can see it, I can hear it, and I don't like it. They don't have to protect me from their own feelings. I want them to talk _with_ me, not _about_ me." She waited as he wrote another line. "You're going to tell Oka-san that aren't you," she said accusingly.

The psychiatrist hummed thoughtfully, writing away in the journal. Nezumi tried to peek discreetly at what he had written so far, but he snatched it up before she could decipher the upside-down text.

He gave her a mild look. "Please don't do that. You can just ask me if you're that curious."

"Sorry," she said, feeling ashamed of herself for trying to take advantage of someone who was actually taking her seriously for a change.

"That's alright. Now why don't you tell me how you feel about chakra? Your reports say that you have chakra hypersensitivity and your mother says it scares you. Is that right?"

She looked away from his inquiring gaze and settled her eyes on some diagrams of brain anatomy pinned on the wall. "It makes me feel funny and it's unnatural," she said in a half-whisper. It almost felt treasonous to admit that.

The psychiatrist looked undisturbed by her statement, but he wrote furiously into his journal as he prodded further. "Well, people with chakra hypersensitivity tend to have mixed reactions to chakra. Some experience tingling or tickling sensations. Others say it's quite painful and develop rashes when they're exposed to large amounts of chakra. How does it make _you_ feel?"

Nezumi shrugged. "I can feel my own chakra in my body—it's a tingly sensation. I can ignore it, but it's always there. Kind of like those little grey particles of protein in your vision."

The psychiatrist paused, his pen coming to a stop on the paper.

She continued on, ignoring him. "But it can get _really_ bad sometimes. Then it goes from tingling to something like a growing pain."

"You can feel your chakra in your body?" He lowered the pen and paper to his lap, out of her direct line of sight. "Please elaborate."

"Well, it's strongest here," Nezumi said, pointing to her belly. "I don't know—it's warm here?" She traced out a spiraling line that went from the middle of her stomach and up and around her heart to her extremities. And I can feel it spreading out from there to my fingers and my head and my toes." She glanced up at the psychiatrist, looking for some kind of confirmation. But he avoided making eye contact with her in favor of watching the pen he twirled around in his fingers.

She went on, a little more uncertainly this time. "Like I said, sometimes it gets bad. When that happens, my stomach gets really hot and I feel like I'm burning on the inside." The psychiatrist continued to play around with his pen and she felt a stab of betrayal. "You do believe me, right? I'm not making this up," she said earnestly.

The psychiatrist made a noncommittal noise. And then, "Is that why you're afraid of chakra? Because it hurts you?" He began writing in the journal again and her shoulders slumped a little.

"…It's unnatural," she repeated. That was all she could bring herself to say—any more and she would risk exposing herself as the alien she was. There was a very fragile levee preventing the mutinous thoughts she kept in her mind from reaching the rest of this strange world. This was all a very fascinating hallucination that she couldn't break out of. A very, _very_ long and detailed hallucination.

Her parents evidently had their suspicions of her strangeness, but at most, they thought she was supremely prone to accidents. Her first attempt to wake herself up from this dream had involved a paring knife. She'd made her second attempt in downtown Konoha during rush hour. And there were numerous other incidents that had resulted in a severe bowl cut, a few prematurely extracted baby teeth, and a splotchy burn running down the length of her arm. And when she wasn't attempting escape, she was sleeping off her chronic fatigue.

It was to Nezumi's misfortune that "Oka-san" was incredibly observant and better at cloning herself than the best Petri dish.

The psychiatrist continued writing in his journal, immune to her internal struggling. "No," he rebutted gently, finally looking up to meet her eyes. "Chakra is _natural._ It's in your body, in other people, in the earth, and in the air. That's the definition of natural."

She broke away from his concerned gaze to stare again at the diagrams on the wall as she bit her fingernails. "It's in my body. It doesn't make sense. I hate it. I don't want it."

"You hate your body or you hate chakra?"

"I.." she mumbled past her fingers. It was all unsettling. Her body, her chakra, this strange _Alice-in-Wonderland_ -type scenario she'd fallen into. Instead of potions that read ' _Drink me'_ , people here grew and shrank by this magical substance called chakra that apparently existed in every living thing. And like poor Alice, she had fallen into a land of nonsense that insisted on throwing her unapologetically into pure chaos. People here could literally walk with Jesus, breathe fire, and kill with the flick of a _needle_. So what did she hate? All of the above?

The psychiatrist waited for her response but she kept worrying at her fingernails instead. More scribbles sounded against the clipboard and judging from the time it took, the psychiatrist had a lot to write down. She entertained the idea of asking what he thought about her and which neuroses he was diagnosing her with, but then she decided that she didn't really want to know.

He finally finished writing everything, setting his pen down with finality, and then contented himself with scrutinizing her. Once she had bitten down to the quick, she settled on examining her abused hands instead of answering his implicit demands.

The sound of a book shutting caught her attention and she looked up to see the psychiatrist stowing away his pen and notebook in the drawer in his desk. He raised his eyebrows slightly at her inquiring gaze and cleared his throat. "I think that's a good place to stop. We'll talk more about this next time," he said.

"Okay," she said meekly. "Is there anything you want me to do in the meantime?"

"Hmm, why don't you make friends with some people your own age? It'll be good for you."

"I—okay? Okay, I'll try that," she answered, taken aback. She thought he'd ask her to do some exercises with chakra or something like the other doctors she'd seen.

"Very good," the psychiatrist said, rising from his seat. He hesitated for a bit before remarking, "Now we're going to go see your mother. Would you like me to keep our conversation confidential?"

Nezumi chewed down on her fingernails again, drawing a little blood this time. "…I'll think about it," she bit out grudgingly. She thought she saw the psychiatrist nodding approvingly at that, but she didn't want to read too deeply into his actions. They exited the room and went out into the lobby together. Oka-san appeared to meet them suddenly, making Nezumi jump in surprise.

"Oh, Nezumi, I'm sorry," Oka-san said, kneeling down to hug her. "I didn't mean to startle you. How was everything?" The last question was directed at the psychiatrist.

"Ah, everything was fine," the psychiatrist replied blandly. "The receptionist will schedule Nezumi in for another meeting next week. I'm afraid I'm quite busy right now—I'll have to talk with you later." He gave Nezumi a meaningful look and then waved at the two of them. "Have a nice day."

And then he was off with another child in tow, leaving Oka-san staring after him in confusion.

"Did you two have a nice talk?" Oka-san asked hesitantly, tugging at Nezumi's hand to lead them to the front desk.

"Oh yes. He's very nice. I like him," Nezumi said readily. She watched the receptionist balance the phone between her ear and her shoulder and pencil something on a card, sliding it to Oka-san.

Oka-san took the card and nodded back at the receptionist. "What did you talk about?" she asked, leading them out of the clinic.

"He told me I should try making friends with people my own age," Nezumi shrugged casually.

"Oh." Oka-san tilted her head with interest. "And will you?"

"I guess it can't hurt," Nezumi muttered, kicking at a small pebble in the path. Someone yelped as they walked past the apple stand and she looked away innocently.

Oka-san sighed and tightened the grip on her hand, but apparently decided that it wasn't worth it to admonish her. "Well, let's go home and see if Daddy found you something new from the library."

* * *

"Why do I have to stay here? Why can't I just stay home with Daddy?" Nezumi whined as she dug her heels into the ground and flailed around with her hands. It was no use—Oka-san picked her up so easily it was insulting.

"You promised the psychiatrist that you'd make friends with people your own age, Nezumi-chan," Oka-san replied cheerfully as she pried Nezumi's fingers from the doorway. "And, Kakashi-kun happens to be your age exactly. Isn't that nice? How convenient!"

"I didn't mean Kakashi! He's a menace!" Nezumi wailed loudly, hoping said menace would use his freaky bat ears and catch a hint.

"Oh, that's quite a coincidence! Because you, beloved daughter mine, are also a menace. You two should bond quite nicely," Oka-san said, finishing her sentence by planting a sloppy kiss on Nezumi's forehead. "Isn't that right, Sakumo?"

Nezumi whirled around, wiping her forehead with disgust. Sakumo was picking up her little suitcase and closing the door behind him, sealing her fate. He threw her an amused look over his shoulder. "Please be patient, Nezumi-chan," he said lightheartedly. Then he began rummaging through the backpack slung on his arm and throwing in a few protein bars.

"Take off your shoes, sweetie," Oka-san whispered into Nezumi's ear. "And be nice. Will you do that for me? I'd feel better on my mission if I knew that my daughter was on her best behavior."

Nezumi grumbled as she leaned down to undo the Velcro straps on her shoes. She eyed her surroundings suspiciously as she did so—a habit ingrained by frequent visits to the lair of the Hatake. If Sakumo was here, that meant Sakumo Lite was lurking somewhere nearby and deviously plotting ways to make her life miserable like the criminal mastermind he wa—

A loud shriek ripped violently through the air, making Kotone and Sakumo wince. And as for the culprit…

Kakashi was glaring at her balefully, rubbing his ears. "Ow," he said, a little belatedly. _From the ceiling_. There was a wooden straw clenched incriminatingly in his fist and a wet ball of paper reluctantly trailed down her forehead before falling with a _plop_ on her newly exposed foot.

From behind her, Sakumo sighed in a way reminiscent of how Oka-san sighed when Nezumi bee-lined for the lonely swing in the corner of the playground with a cloud of _anti-social_ radiating around her instead of interacting with the throngs of children whooping delightedly in the jungle gym.

"Kakashi," Sakumo said wearily. "You _promised."_

"But Dad, she's such an easy target. Did you see that? Did you see that? I got her right on the forehead!" the boy crowed victoriously, evidently forgetting the damage wrought to his ears. Then he swooped down gracefully from his perch on the ceiling, looking quite bat-like with his mask and the dark clothes he favored.

Sakumo gave his miniature model a reproachful look. "Give me that," he said, presenting his open hand to Kakashi. "And apologize to Nezumi-chan."

Kakashi handed his instrument of torture over grudgingly, sorry to see it go—but apparently, not sorry enough to make him offer Nezumi a genuine apology. "My bad. But you kind of suck at dodging," he said offhand, distracted by the whines coming from under the cream-colored sofa. Sakumo released another sigh, moving in to scold Kakashi. But he was interrupted by the little puppy that had escaped from under the couch to settle contentedly at Kakashi's feet.

Oka-san quirked an eyebrow, but Nezumi beat her to the punch. "What is that?" she asked distrustfully with a hint of fear, drawing away from the pup. If it was anything like its master, she would be wise to steer clear of it.

Kakashi sat down Indian-style to play with his new pet. " _His_ name is Pakkun. He's my ninken," he announced proudly. The dog licked Kakashi's hand at the sound of its name.

From behind, Nezumi heard Oka-san murmur "Really? He's three."

"He needs to learn some responsibility," Sakumo muttered back in sotto-voce.

While Nezumi agreed with Sakumo, she was far less impressed by the sight of this creature with its huge, bulging eyes and its flat, squashed face. Didn't these people know that it was highly unethical to produce such a breed? Pugs were afflicted by chronic breathing problems and a host of other health complications brought on by inbreeding and all in the name of _cuteness._

"It's ugly," she declared, crinkling her nose distastefully at the little vermin whose company she would have to suffer for the duration of a whole week. Both of them. The pug growled and lunged at her discarded shoes. Nezumi made a move to save her footwear, but it was too late—the dog was already safely tucked away in Kakashi's lap, chewing happily on its new toy.

"Nezumi!" Oka-san said sharply.

"Kakashi!" Sakumo warned at the same time.

The children were saved from tongue lashings from their respective parents by the sound of a doorbell. Sakumo and Oka-san shared a relieved look before Sakumo moved to answer the door. A moment later, he returned to the living room with another white-haired man and three adolescents bearing their own packs.

"Nezumi-chan, Kakashi, this is my friend Jiraiya and his genin team. They'll be taking care of you while Kotone and I are on this mission," Sakumo said, gesturing to the enormous man who was looming over them with an easy grin on his face.

Jiraiya looked and moved like a Kabuki actor with the red paint that decorated his face and the traditional costume he wore. "This is Minato," he said, motioning to the boy in the middle who looked like the very personification of summer. The blond grinned brightly, drawing further comparisons with the sun.

Next in line was a boy who sported very traditionally Japanese features in contrast to Minato's Nordic look. His name was Ken. He had short, buzzed hair and … well _chinky_ eyes. Nezumi searched her head for a less, _ahem_ racist adjective, but failed miserably. If it weren't for his lazy wave, she would have thought he was sleeping on his feet.

The last member of the group to be introduced was a pale girl with black hair who was staring at Sakumo with veritable sparkles in her eyes. She was named Yume and she bowed deeply to Sakumo when Jiraiya was done introducing her. "It is an honor to meet the esteemed White Fang," she said unctuously.

Nezumi shivered, disturbed by the obvious display of hero worship—such obsequious pandering was always distasteful, but here, it involved an unhealthy admiration of Sakumo's talent for _killing_.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sleepy-eyed boy. "Is this really a C-rank mission, Sensei? It just looks like _another_ babysitting job," he complained, and a hint of dark eyes showed underneath his heavy eyelids as he regarded her and Kakashi with a look of boredom.

Sakumo huffed out a laugh and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly while Oka-san hid a wide smile demurely with her hand. Kakashi sat up straight and considered the trio of genin with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

"I'm glad to have such experienced genin look after my darling baby for me," Oka-san said happily. "Nezumi will be on her best behavior so I'm sure you'll have no trouble at all." She shot a pointed look at Nezumi.

"Ah, yes. It's just a precaution," Sakumo said rather innocently. "Feel free to help yourselves to whatever is in the kitchen. We'll be back in a week's time."

Oka-san came over to beg a kiss on the cheek from Nezumi and Sakumo knelt to whisper something unintelligible in Kakashi's ear. Then Oka-san picked up their packs as Sakumo let Kakashi fasten the harness carrying his dagger around his back.

"Are you really sure this is a good idea?" they all heard Oka-san whisper to Sakumo.

Sakumo replied with an answer that didn't exactly lend confidence to the genin team and the two toddlers. "No. But I commissioned a _C-rank_ and Jiraiya's here. That should be enough for two three-year olds..."

With an uncertain look at the children, they turned and left.

But as soon as the door shut, a succession of white balls met each unsuspecting genin squarely in the face. Jiraiya swatted the fourth missile away carelessly without even looking at the direction it came from and cackled at the shocked expressions on his students' faces. For a moment, there was only incredulous silence as they zeroed in on Kakashi in unison. Then, Yume was the first to point and shout indignantly at Kakashi who conveyed a diabolical grin with his eyes and waved another wooden straw at them mockingly before he made himself scarce.

In his wake, he left a confused puppy and a disgruntled Nezumi. She picked herself up, ignoring her now mangled shoes and the affronted genin, and settled on the couch with a heavy medical textbook and her trusty dictionary. This was where she intended to stay for the next seven days.

* * *

It took Jiraiya three days to check up on the ache that was building up in Nezumi's stomach due to all the ambient chakra left in the air after each of Kakashi's skirmishes with the genin. The air was heavy with it, feeling humid and charged with the static she'd come to associate with Kakashi. She lounged there listlessly on the couch, her books forgotten on the floor.

The jounin sat on the armrest opposite of her head and examined her with an inscrutable look that defied his usual jocular airs. "That pain you're feeling comes from the imbalance of energies in your body. And it doesn't help that you're blocking your own chakra flow."

She glared at him weakly. "What do you mean?"

A loud, metallic clang and a bitten off yelp had them both turning their heads to the direction of the kitchen.

Jiraiya grumbled and raised an open hand to his mouth to amplify his voice. "Is everything alright in there?"

"…N-noo—mmmf!"

"Yes!" Yume's cheerful voice cut off Minato's cracking adolescent pitch. Then the sounds of a fight came faintly from a distance along with the unpleasant smell of something burning.

Jiraiya paused and then apparently decided that he couldn't be bothered to intervene. He leaned his chin on his palm and peered down at Nezumi thoughtfully. "Like I was saying, you're unbalanced. Your spiritual energy far outweighs your physical. I don't suppose you exercise or anything," he remarked, kicking at her abandoned books. He grunted, bringing his foot up to rest on his knee so he could rub it. "Ooh, that hurts. That's some heavy duty stuff you've got there."

' _Heh. Serves him right,'_ she thought, smiling wanly up at the Toad Sannin. "I'm three. I shouldn't be exercising. I should be letting my muscles develop naturally."

He reached out to pinch the plentiful baby fat adorning her cheeks. "Muscles you say?"

She swatted at his hand with all the effectiveness of mouse combating a bear. "I'm _three,"_ she repeated.

Jiraiya let go of the cheek he was playing with. "If you say so. Three-year olds don't generally inhibit their own chakra flow though. Look at Kakashi-kun. He's so… enthusiastic about his chakra."

Nezumi hissed at him urgently. "Don't speak his name. You'll summon him here."

"Interesting. You're not denying manipulating your chakra."

"I—" she began, caught off guard by his perceptiveness. It was true. She didn't like the feeling of chakra streaming naturally out of her pores.

The jonin shifted in his seat. "Well you see, Nezumi-chan. When there's a blockage to a flow like that, certain things tend to happen. For example… hmm. When I was a young genin myself, there was a cute girl on my team named Tsunade. I liked Tsunade. But Tsunade-chan had a crush on my other teammate, Orochimaru. It was a love triangle, the likes of which have never been seen. Fated to end in tragedy…" he trailed off melodramatically, entering into a passionate soliloquy that no one had asked for.

"Our first mission outside of Konoha consisted of protecting the current Daimyo. Handsome he was back in his youth. Now… Well he's let himself go," Jiraiya muttered. "Anyway, another player entered the arena, as the young Daimyo and Tsunade began a star-crossed romance. For you see, romantic engagements between ninja and their clients are strictly forbidden."

"But," Jiraiya said, raising a finger to emphasize his point, "our mission was to last only a fortnight as we escorted the Daimyo from Konoha to his palace. And devoted as she was to our young charge, not once did lovely Tsunade venture from our sight to respond to the calls of nature."

He was really picking up stride now, leaping up from his seat on the armrest to gesticulate excitedly with his arms. Out of nowhere, he procured a blonde wig styled in pigtails and two round spheres appeared to protrude obscenely from his previously flat chest. Nezumi raised a brow. Again, she was three and such a detailed showing was quite unnecessary.

"The mission proceeded smoothly until we were just about to cross the palace gates. And then we were ambushed by a squad of Iwa-nin!" Eight ninja garbed in foreign dress and bearing hitai-ate indicating not the familiar spiraling symbol of the Leaf, but the two stones of Rock, poofed into existence. Nezumi started and shifted uneasily as a painful prickling sensation settled in her skin. She'd seen Oka-san make clones before, but never in this quantity and never for such flamboyant purposes. And Oka-san's clones were just that—clones who looked exactly like their creator. So were these eight new additions clones or …?

She didn't have time to question their existence as Jiraiya moved onto the climax of his epic tale. The eight foreign ninja charged and swarmed in around Jiraiya-Tsunade, hiding the Sannin from view. Then suddenly, the "Iwa-nin" poofed out of existence as Jiraiya-Tsunade raised a fist triumphantly and shouted girlishly.

He went on narrating the story. "With her great strength, Tsunade vanquished her mighty foes. But as she rushed to her beloved to ensure his safety, she forgot the lone survivor lurking beneath the earth." As he spoke, another "Iwa-nin" emerged from the carpet and crawled on his hands and knees towards a Jiraiya-Tsunade swooning over empty air.

"Alas for Tsunade! This enemy could not resist the primal call to respond to such lovely _assets_ and he indulged in a forbidden jutsu." The "Iwa-nin" came to a halt behind Jiraiya-Tsunade and brought his hands together in a parody of a gun.

"Yes! The enemy took the plunge and performed the most ghastly, the most terrible 'Thousand Years of Death' jutsu on our heroine!" And Jiraiya-Tsunade was launched into the air, screaming shrilly as the Iwa-nin dug his fingers into the Sannin's rear.

 _Oh my_. The genin appeared around the corner, attracted by the noise of the spectacle Jiraiya was putting on for Nezumi's benefit. Why exactly was he telling this story again?

"But if you recall, my audience, dear Tsunade had neglected the needs of her own body for an entire fortnight, earnest as she was to win the affections of our most honorable Daimyo. And with this assault, the last chains of her will were broken." A stream of brown, chunky liquid fountained into the air at the Sannin's words, splattering to the ground. "And so it came to be, the ill-fated romance between our two star-crossed lovers came to an end, felled by the very _substance_ that Tsunade had hidden from the Daimyo. This reminded the world that the most magnificent Slug Princess, mistress of the body, is human. All too human." Jiraiya concluded his story with an ostentatious bow to his bemused audience.

An awkward silence filled the air as Nezumi and the three genin stared at the brown substance now staining the carpet. _What was that?_ It wasn't really Jiraiya's own excrement was it? Was the man _that_ devoted to his storytelling?

A toad croaked on Jiraiya's shoulder. And to Nezumi's surprise, it opened its mouth again to speak. "Jiraiya-kun," it rumbled in a low voice. "I repeat, toad oil is not meant for creative uses." Then it disappeared in a puff of smoke. Jiraiya laughed and rubbed his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess he had made.

"So Nezumi-chan. The moral of the story is?" he asked expectantly.

"… Shit happens?" Nezumi said flatly.

Jiraiya guffawed loudly and then quieted with his eyes wide with panic when he remembered that he was babysitting this toddler. He shushed Nezumi urgently. "Don't say that in front of your mother. You didn't learn that from me, you hear?" And then he slapped a palm to his head. "And no! Of course not! The moral of the story is that you shouldn't block the body's natural processes! Let your chakra flow like it should! Otherwise, you'll explode. Just like Tsunade."

Then, a slow clap came from behind her and Nezumi spun around to see Kakashi balanced on the back of the couch and staring reverently at Jiraiya. The jounin gave the boy a pleased smile and bowed with flourish. The clapping stopped as the boy brought his hands together, imitating the gun shape he had just witnessed.

"A Thousand Years of Death", Kakashi said. It almost looked like he was praying with his hands together like that. "A Thousand Years of Death," he repeated worshipfully.

Sinister tones rose in the air as the boy lowered his gaze to stare meaningfully at his clasped hands. The genin gulped audibly and clapped their hands over their suddenly vulnerable backsides as they realized that they still had another _four_ days in this wretched establishment. Nezumi shivered helplessly. She decided that by the end of the week, this couch would be very firmly acquainted with her ass.

"I am become Death, destroyer of worlds," Nezumi quoted ominously, pinning Jiraiya with a critical glare. She felt that teaching Kakashi this forbidden jutsu was truly akin to equipping mankind with the power of the atom bomb. The jounin chucked nervously and slapped a piece of parchment on the brown stain. Magically, it disappeared when he raised the paper away, leaving behind a pristine patch of carpet.

"Anyway, Nezumi-chan. I want you to try something," Jiraiya said, approaching the children with two small pieces of paper. He motioned at the little ghoul creeping over her shoulder to sit down on the unoccupied seat next to Nezumi. "You too, Kakashi-kun."

The boy clambered down and took the proffered slip of paper obediently. "What is this for?" Kakashi asked curiously.

"This is a special kind of paper that will reveal your elemental affinity when you inject your chakra in it," Jiraiya replied.

A sharp beeping noise sounded as a grey smoke began filtering into the living room. Jiraiya threw his genin an irritated glance and ushered them into the kitchen. Nezumi heard them coughing as they entered the fray and wondered if she should take the opportunity to go home. This place was quickly becoming very hazardous to her health—what with burning kitchens, theatrical jounin, and nefarious Kakashi's running around mostly unchecked.

With all supervision gone, Kakashi just shrugged and poured his chakra into the paper, sending another wave of static over Nezumi's skin. His slip of paper immediately crinkled up and he regarded it inquisitively before turning to cock his head at her.

"What?" she asked defensively.

He waved his piece of paper in her face. "Are you going to try?"

Nezumi sniffed disdainfully. "I'm not interested."

"Give me it then," he demanded, grabbing at her piece of paper.

"What? Why?" she cried out, closing her hand carefully around the paper. "You already got yours!"

"I want to try again. And you don't care so why does it matter?" he said firmly. And then he was pulling apart her fingers and yanking the paper out of her hand.

"No!" she yelled, lunging after her property. And the chakra she'd stubbornly kept pent-up in her body responded eagerly to her heightened emotions. The coveted piece of paper turned wet in her fingers and the two children stopped struggling over it.

Kakashi threw her a smug look just as Jiraiya reappeared around the corner, smelling of smoke. It was then that Nezumi realized the brat had manipulated her into doing his bidding.

"Oh! Very good," the jonin exclaimed with satisfaction. Kakashi preened under his praise.

"Let's see," Jiraiya mused. "Lightning for you Kakashi-kun, as expected of a member of the Hatake clan. And it looks like you have water, Nezumi-chan."

The boy sitting next to her stilled and Nezumi inched away, anticipating something unfortunate. But Kakashi just looked at Jiraiya hopefully and asked in an uncharacteristically hesitant voice, "Are we related?"

"Oh?" replied the jounin quizzically, obviously taken aback by the question. And then a shadow fell over the Jiraiya's face as he sighed regretfully. "No, Kakashi-kun. I'm afraid not."

"But, your hair…" Kakashi said, pointing to Jiraiya's wild mass of white hair. "I've only seen that color on me and dad. And you know about my clan's chakra. I thought…" he trailed off uncertainly, the fragile hope receding from the visible parts of his face.

Jiraiya reached out to pet Kakashi's unruly hair but shook his head. "No," he repeated gently, "I'm an orphan, Kakashi-kun. We're not related."

Nezumi looked away uncomfortably, reminded of the incident that had occurred one day around two years ago. She had just mastered the word ' _Oka-san'_ and had been repeating it over and over again in an effort to express her need for food. Oka-san had come to lift her out of the playpen she'd shared with Kakashi. But just as Oka-san had brought Nezumi to her chest, Kakashi too called out "Oka-san" with his arms raised expectantly. Sakumo had rounded the corner at that moment and had frozen at the sound of Kakashi calling for his mother. It had taken months for Sakumo to ease the word out from Kakashi's head and Nezumi had felt a stab of guilt every time Kakashi uttered it innocently, eliciting a pained look from the man.

She peeked a glance at Kakashi who just nodded stiffly at Jiraiya's kind rebuttal and fled, presumably to his room.

Jiraiya watched after Kakashi's retreat with a faraway look in his eyes. Then he shook himself and returned to her, smiling sadly. "Why don't we try a few exercises, Nezumi-chan? That'll get rid of the pain better than that baby aspirin in your bag. Your chakra coils are very sensitive and they're still growing along with the rest of your body. You need to let them develop freely or you're going to hurt yourself. Maybe permanently," he finished gravely.

The pangs in her stomach were building in intensity and she could see the logic in Jiraiya's words despite all the outrageous pomp he'd presented them with. And now that the jounin was all sobered up, she couldn't discount the fact that this was a serious matter that she couldn't just blow off for the sake of prejudice. Besides, she liked that he was approaching her with the intent of _helping_ her as a fellow human being, unlike those doctors who'd looked at her as a pathological case to be cured.

Nezumi scanned Jiraiya's eyes intently, reassuring herself of his good will before nodding solemnly. "Okay."

* * *

When Kotone and Sakumo stepped over the threshold and into the house, they were greeted by the three genin, all packed and ready to go, and bearing such open faces of relief that Kotone felt a flash of guilt. When they'd left, the little blond genin had had a full head of spiky, yellow hair. But now, here he was, a patch of hair missing suspiciously from his head. The girl had a split lip and her hair looked to be a little shorter. And the tan genin with the buzz cut was sporting a painful looking burn on his arm. There was a clear radius around Kakashi and the genin were eyeing him carefully like he was radioactive. What had happened?

At the sight of his father, Kakashi perked up and ran to Sakumo with his arms raised. "Daddy!" he said childishly, his eyes wide with innocence. Sakumo picked Kakashi up easily but furrowed his brows at the genin, who had flinched violently at Kakashi's sudden movement.

They jumped to attention, clearly raring to go but Jiraiya approached her and Sakumo with an amused smile on his face. "What have you been feeding those kids?" the Sannin stage-whispered.

Kotone smiled uncertainly. "How was everything? Did Nezumi behave…?"

Jiraiya grinned widely. "Your daughter is a riot!" he tossed Yume a gleeful look, giggled, and then slapped his thigh. "What was it she said Yume-chan? Heh!"

The girl blushed and stared down at her crossed arms. "I was just teaching her some biology..." she muttered. "Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell," she recited almost word for word from the basic science textbook taught at the Academy. Then she eyed Sakumo hopefully, looking for some kind of recognition.

"Mitochondria _are_ the powerhouse of the cell," came a childish voice from the corner.

They turned to see Nezumi poking her head from behind the wall and Jiraiya laughed even louder when he saw the bright red flush that was spreading further over Yume's face. "She got you again, Yume-chan!" Jiraiya crowed, ruffling the genin's hair so that it stuck up like an angry porcupine.

"Anyway," Jiraiya continued, straightening up as his face smoothed into business professional, "The mission has been completed by Team Jiraiya as per the instructions. We will take our leave now."

Sakumo nodded gratefully as the genin grabbed their supplies and rushed as professionally as they could to the front door. Yume stopped to give a deep bow to Sakumo but the other two grabbed her hastily, keen on getting the hell out. When Jiraiya passed by them, he whispered into Sakumo's ear. "Next time, maybe a _B-Rank,_ Senpai _._ "

Sakumo's eyes widened but before he could say anything, Team Jiraiya exited the premises. He and Kotone shared a wary look and ventured further into the house with Nezumi. At this, Kakashi scrambled down from Sakumo's hold and sat down to play with Pakkun. He studiously avoided Sakumo's questioning gaze as they walked by and into the living room.

Pure carnage awaited them. The once crème-colored sofa was now tinged grey and marred with black scorch marks. And the wall—the wall was punctured by a small forest's worth of chopsticks filed into sharp tips.

"Ah..." Sakumo swallowed slowly and tried to speak but words failed him.

Nezumi tugged on Kotone's hand insistently. "Can we go now?" she whined.

Kotone couldn't bring herself to object.

* * *

 **AN: A warning-One reviewer has wisely criticized the use of a certain racial slur in this chapter. I realize that this word is offensive to many people so here's my explanation for it:**

 _I understand that "chink" is an offensive racial slur that has a painful history for many people. I myself am of Asian-descent and have experienced the word in a hateful context. But in this particular case, I am not using it for comedic relief, but rather as a device to develop character. You see, I take vernacular as one way of revealing certain personality traits. And here, I'm trying to portray Nezumi as a rather judgmental and critical character whose New York prejudices have carried over into the world of Naruto. (Speaking from personal experience, as an Asian living in New York... well, sometimes it's a little harsh.)_

 **I do not condone the use of such words to denigrate certain individuals or groups.**


	7. Cost of Living

Oof. It's been _over a_ _month_ since my last update and I'm so sorry! I realize my profile says some bullshit like "expect a new chapter every week," so I'll go ahead and remove that lie while I'm at it. That said, it's been a hell of a month. 400 pages graded, a birthday, 25 Pokemon Go levels, and a move to a new city later, here is chapter 7!

* * *

 _Ch. 7 Cost of Living_

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping merrily in their nests, and there was a gaggle of newly graduated academy students and their parents celebrating joyously amongst themselves.

Akira whistled cheerfully to himself as he strolled down the street and enjoyed the caress of a cool breeze. He welcomed it with open arms after having spent a week surrounded by surly, tight-lipped strangers who'd invaded his personal space like it was nobody's business. He greeted passersby without prejudice and a mixed assortment of polite smiles and looks of befuddlement followed him. Konoha, the village of treehuggers, was known for being pretty friendly. But, one was wise to remember the thousands of deaths upon which the village was built. Its social circles were small and insular and rarely did Konoha's citizens venture outside of their comfort zones to welcome strangers.

But then again, Akira enjoyed a special privilege as the library's most dedicated worker. Upon entering the library's doors, shinobi and civilians alike strolled past the front desk manned by someone so utterly unremarkable and guileless that they were hard-pressed to remember that there was indeed anybody at all at the desk. Nonetheless, Akira performed his duties with admirable drive and cheer even without the promise of gratitude. And indeed, his achievements went as unnoticed as his presence and were often undone by the very patrons they benefited.

In any case, Akira's unsolicited greetings were received by passersby not with the usual wariness reserved for strangers. Some paused momentarily to process the déjà vu that accompanied the sight of the cheerful, whistling man. Those who managed to identify Akira moved on with their lives. Most couldn't be bothered to pay him more than a curious glance. He was harmless and unexciting.

Akira, on the other hand, went at a steady pace towards his apartment, oblivious to the disregards of his fellow citizens. From a distance, he could see the mailbox straining to hold a week's worth of mail. He entertained the fantasy that he'd find some mysteriously late paychecks or correspondence from a wealthy, distant relative who'd bequeathed her entire fortune to him and his family.

He grabbed the mail with one hand as he fiddled with the front door, which fought back with its usual rusty squeaks. Newspapers, ads, and junk mail awaited him. But amidst the swathes of color paper promising fun summertime activities for the entire family, there were two thick, white envelopes. He gingerly pulled them out and examined them for strange markings with a critical eye. There had been a particularly memorable incident involving Kotone's innocuous looking bookmark and Akira had gone an entire month without eyebrows for daring to read her favorite history book on the toilet. If Akira was unexciting, Kotone and her lifestyle more than made up for it.

Fortunately, only his name and address decorated the envelopes and Akira wondered if his dreams had come true. It wasn't often that he received mail. With bated breath, he tore open the envelope and pulled out a long list featuring some very impressive numbers.

"Medical bills," he deadpanned. "My favorite."

The following envelope revealed another set of depressingly large figures begging to be released from his poor bank account. "And your best friend, crippling debt," he sighed as the will to endure life with good cheer dissipated. Suddenly, the sun was shining too brightly, the birds were chirping mockingly, and the academy students and their parents were selfishly celebrating their trivial successes.

But he didn't have time to wallow in despair—the front door creaked once more and then standing before him was a serious little girl lugging around a heavy book that threatened to pull her to the ground.

"Hello," Akira greeted solemnly. "What is your opinion of _Ishinpo: Prescriptions from the Heart of Medicine_ by Tanba Yasuyori?"

"Riveting. Five stars. Critic Fujiwara Nezumi calls it 'an unflinching exploration of the human body,'" his little daughter replied with the utmost seriousness. A moment passed as they regarded each other gravely, though the strict poker face came with much difficulty for Akira. Such a grave look contradicted Nezumi's round, cherubic face. Nezumi puckered her lips into a tight, severe line that betrayed a precarious wobble.

And then a muscle twitched in Nezumi's round cheek and they burst out in laughter.

An arm came around Akira's shoulder at the same time a hand pinched Nezumi's cheek. Akira turned his head to see Kotone smiling affectionately at the two of them. "Oh, my little nerds," she sighed.

Akira grinned. "The Accords of Uzushiogakure occurred...?"

"During the third year of the Shodaime's reign, making official the friendship and goodwill shared between Leaf and Whirlpool," finished Kotone automatically. Then she caught herself in an exaggerated movement and smacked his shoulder good-naturedly.

"Who's the nerd now?" Akira asked drolly.

But unbeknownst to him, Kotone had thieved the damned letters he'd been reading. She was scanning the contents rapidly with an unreadable expression. Then the papers disappeared up her sleeves and she turned to him with a wide smile. "You are, dummy!" She said without missing a beat.

Nezumi's eyes were flitting back and forth between the two of them and she looked like she was ready to embark on one of her long "Why?" sessions. She opened her mouth, but Kotone cut her off.

"Anyway, I invited Sakumo and Kakashi over for dinner. It's the least we could do after he let Nezumi stay over all week. And you wouldn't _believe_ what happened to their living room while we were gone!" Kotone handed off a little suitcase to Nezumi. "Put down your book and go unpack, baby. I'll make you pee-jaw or whatever you call that greasy monstrosity.

"It's pizza. Peet-suh!" Nezumi corrected as she drew back her lips to demonstrate the precise pronunciation of the foreign word.

"Okay, okay. Pee-chah!" Kotone returned teasingly with an easy smile, pushing Nezumi off towards the direction of her room.

Once their daughter was safely out of earshot, Kotone turned back to Akira, drawing the papers back out of her sleeves. "These medical bills. They're outrageous," she said bitterly. Not for the first time, Akira was struck by Kotone's ability to transition seamlessly from one emotion to another.

He sighed. "I know, I know. Luckily, I won't have to go back any time soon. Most of the charges are for the medication." He pulled apart the front of his yukata to show her the metal apparatus that had been implanted into his body over the course of the week. "They called me in to install this. I won't have to take time off work anymore and at least we won't have to bother with co-payments. Dr. Tanba gave me a prescription and I just need to hook this up with the medication bags."

Kotone took her time studying the device on his chest and ran a hand through her dirty post-mission hair before fixing his yukata. "We need to start paying back those loans too. I'll put in a request for work at the outposts. If it goes through, I won't be around much, but at least we'll have a steadier source of income. Worse comes to worst, we'll pull out the savings we set aside for Nezumi's tuition at the civilian school…"

Akira shook his head firmly. "No. She's already having so many issues with chakra. We're not sending her off to the Academy. Besides, she doesn't want to go there."

"Well what are we supposed to do then?" Kotone said exasperatedly. "The civilian school is _way_ too expensive and she'd just sit there twiddling her thumbs while other kids learn how to spell 'dog' and draw cartoon suns with sunglasses. That's a shit ton of money for some glorified babysitting."

"Better than sending a chakra hypersensitive kid to a school _that teaches how to kill people with chakra!_ That's like sending someone with a peanut allergy to a fucking peanut farm!"

Kotone hushed him with a finger, but Akira was on a roll. "Listen to me! We're not doing that to our _daughter!"_

"Oh my God, shut up!" Kotone exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration as she walked away towards the direction of the kitchen. "She can probably hear us, along with the rest of the fucking world. Keep it down!"

She went on, pulling a bunch of slightly wilted bok choy out of the fridge. It seemed to pass her critical inspection for she plucked off a few yellowed leaves and threw the rest in a colander to be washed. "You're being so melodramatic. The curriculum's been changed and I know for a fact that the Academy doesn't teach jutsu until the 5th year now. Nezumi can wait it out for a few years while we get our shit together and then we'll transfer her. They'll only make her run around a little. And God knows she needs some exercise. She's growing in the _opposite_ direction. Get her some fitness magazines next time, will you?"

Akira leaned against the counter and watched as Kotone scoured the vegetables with vengeance. "Stop that," he said. She made a very reasonable point that his rational side couldn't disagree with, but he still felt like arguing. "Stop criticizing her weight. She's _three_ and the doctors say she's at a perfectly healthy weight. Keep doing that and she'll start puking in the toilet after every meal."

Kotone scoffed. "Better that than diabetes."

"Can you just stop? Please?" Akira pinched his nose and exhaled wearily. "You _always_ have to have the last word. I'm so fucking sick of it."

Kotone slammed the water shut abruptly and bit her lip tightly. She swallowed a few times and looked up at the ceiling. "Well you certainly _are_ sick, aren't you," she said at last in a low, tremulous voice.

* * *

As she scarfed down the "pee-jaw" that Oka-san had promised her, Nezumi decided that the best thing about this world was that she could freely eat all of the cheese in the world without worrying about her imminent death by allergy attack.

"Nezumi-chan? Aren't you going to ask if Kakashi wants some?" Oka-san asked with a pleasant smile on her face.

Nezumi smiled pleasantly back at Oka-san and turned to the boy who was sitting next to her. Gravity seemed to have an especial power over him tonight, dragging his shoulders down and making him slog through every action like it was doused in sticky syrup. His mask was still on his face, but that was probably due to the fact that he was just poking at his food with a pair of colorful training chopsticks and pointedly looking at everything but his father.

Upon seating himself at the table, Sakumo had snatched up the regular, wooden chopsticks awaiting Kakashi and had replaced them with those plastic chopsticks adorned with a smiling cartoon figure of the Sandaime's monkey summon. Kakashi's rebellion against the tyranny of cute, plastic eating utensils had quickly been quelled by a stern look from Sakumo.

"Would you like some pizza?" Nezumi asked graciously.

Kakashi eyed her decadent meal warily. "No."

Nezumi waggled her eyebrows smugly at Oka-san and went back to enjoying her prize—

"—how are you going to be a ninja if you're fat?" Kakashi asked bluntly.

Nezumi paused and carefully set her slice back down on the plate, lest it be crushed in her rage. She cut off Sakumo who was just opening up his mouth to speak. "I'm not going to be a ninja. I'm going to live a normal, happy life and the most I'll have to worry about is dying of fatness."

Daddy shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Oka-san busied herself with adding another bunch of bok choy to the bubbling pot on the table.

"God forbid he ever meets an Akimichi," Sakumo muttered to Oka-san. A warning hand came to rest on Kakashi's shoulder. In response, said shoulder descended even more as its owner slid down his seat like an angry slug.

Sakumo considered Kakashi for a moment, and then turned abruptly to Daddy, who looked mildly surprised to be the focus of the jounin's attention. "So, Akira-san. How's everything at the library?"

Daddy chewed thoughtfully on a piece of meat. "Actually, pretty interesting. There's been a _lot_ of kids at the library lately. They're a rowdy bunch—they're loud, they fight each other, they vandalize the property, and they keep stealing even though we've told them that they can borrow the books for _free._ " He shrugged helplessly. "On the upside, the Council has finally approved our budget proposal so at least we've got that going for us."

He reached over to fish out another piece of meat, but then dropped it back in the pot with a rueful expression.

Oka-san intercepted the discarded morsel in midair before it splashed hot soup on everyone. She frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

"I forgot to take my medicine," Daddy replied absently as he set down his chopsticks and got up from his seat. "I'll be right back," he added as an afterthought while making his way to the bathroom.

Everyone watched him go. The light, jovial air was replaced by a curious tension. There was a strange stiffness in the way Akira carried himself. His back was set in a straight line and his characteristic shuffling gait had been forced into heavy, deliberate steps. Akira, who could usually pass for a cheerful hamster in both appearance and behavior, seemed more like a condemned man walking to his own execution.

Nezumi lowered her head and went back to her pizza. Experience told her that adults were more forthcoming with information when she pretended to ignore them. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Sakumo tilt his head and raise his eyebrows at Oka-san.

Oka-san's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "He just has some pains, that's all. He'll be all better soon," she remarked, waving away Sakumo's concern with a careless hand. "Come on. Let's hurry up and eat, or we'll be eating cold pot instead of hot pot."

An awkward silence followed her poor excuse for a joke.

Daddy came back from the bathroom bearing a grey visage and looking remarkably ill though he'd only been absent for a few moments. He rubbed his hands enthusiastically and looked at his curious audience with feigned ignorance. "Did I miss anything while I was gone? Let's eat!"

Oka-san and Daddy were the only ones to take up the imperative. Sakumo very deliberately set his chopsticks aside and turned to stone in his seat. "Akira-san," he began, carefully articulating each syllable. He looked first at Oka-san with a long, hard stare and then at Daddy. "What is this medicine you're taking?"

The question startled Nezumi and the rest of her pizza didn't quite make it to her mouth. Even Kakashi came to attention.

"Just some painkillers. I have a headache," Akira replied vaguely.

"Really," Sakumo said flatly.

"Nezumi-chan, why don't you take Kakashi-kun to your room and show him your new…um…" Oka-san waved a hand around as she tried to recall if she'd recently bought any new toys for Nezumi.

"...Right! _Ishinpo: Prescriptions from the Heart of Medicine_ by Tanba Yasuyori" Daddy chimed in helpfully, nodding solemnly at Oka-san's half-formed suggestion as if it contained the answers to life's mysteries. "I expect a detailed review from Critic Fujiwara Nezumi by the end of the evening!"

"I—what? No! What's going on?" Nezumi asked, latching stubbornly onto the table with her hands. Oka-san stood up suddenly to pick up both her and Kakashi. They were deposited in Nezumi's room and the door was slammed shut before Nezumi could even process her movement. She rushed to the door but Oka-san must have locked it from the outside. Pounding on the door and hollering at the top of her lungs didn't merit any response.

Kakashi joined her battle against the door, but in the end, they managed to accomplish only sore knuckles and the promise of bruises on their hands. All at once, the fight left her and she dropped her weary head on the stubborn door with a dull _thump_. They were leaving her out _again._ As much as she hated being here _,_ she couldn't deny that she could have been dumped somewhere far worse. These people loved her and provided her with everything they could afford. And as insignificant and helpless it made her feel to be completely at their mercy, it somehow made her feel even _worse_ that she couldn't do anything to help them.

Her eyes felt hot and she felt the tell-tale prickling of tears. But she refused to give in—not when Kakashi was there to witness her weakness. Instead, she turned defiantly to him and blinked hard to banish the tears from her eyes.

Kakashi stared back at her, but his usual mischief was absent from his eyes. He fidgeted and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What's wrong with your dad?" he asked quietly.

His question undid all her hard work and the tears came back in full force. She couldn't maintain his gaze as her vision blurred with a veil of tears and she looked away to swipe furiously at her eyes. "I don't know," she admitted in a whisper after clearing her throat to ensure her voice didn't come out wobbly.

"He smells," Kakashi said in a simple, factual tone that bore no contempt or judgment.

"What do you mean?"

Underneath the mask, Kakashi might have been crinkling his nose. "I dunno. He smells like my dad's old weapons."

That made her pause and she couldn't keep the frown off her lips. She pounced onto the safer conversation topic that would allow her equal emotional footing with the toddler. "Your dad lets you play with his weapons?"

Kakashi scowled and sat stiffly on her bed. He stood out like an ominous storm cloud against the pastel pink sheets decorated with flowers and smiling bumblebees. "No. He won't let me do anything. All he does is go on missions and when he comes back, he just sleeps all day. And he never trains with me. It's so boring."

Nezumi slid down into an undignified heap on the floor. The urge to cry had abated and she felt secure enough to study Kakashi intently. "Why do _you_ want to be a ninja? You don't have to, you know. No one's making you. And frankly, I don't know why anyone would want to be a ninja. The fatality rate is ridiculous, most ninja suffer serious physical and psychological damage, and there isn't much room for growth. The only way to move up and get better missions is to participate in a deadly battle royale or to prove yourself in the field. And basically, the only way to achieve the latter is to like, take down a Kage. So why?"

While she rattled off her reasons for avoiding the way of the shinobi, Kakashi flopped off her bed and started investigating the rest of her room with a look of boredom. "Hmm? Did you say something?" he asked in a disinterested tone as he casually perused the papers sitting on her desk.

There were some clinical observations she'd made of her chakra recorded painstakingly in her childish script. On the side, she'd made some half-assed attempts to catalogue the faint glimmers of memory she had of her past life. Those notes looked like the workings of a schizophrenic—she would begin on one trail and get lost on a series of tangential thoughts. Her memory was too unreliable to offer a systematic account.

These days, Nezumi much preferred reading everything she could get her hands on. For one thing, thinking of the past would inevitably trap her in a violent pattern of wistful yearning and self-loathing. And for another, she wanted to know about all the plentiful dangers lurking in this present situation.

Dangers such as bored ninja prodigies. Nezumi blinked and swatted belatedly at a white blob that suddenly flew into her face. A paper shuriken fell on her lap. Half of it was covered with some colorful attempts to write her name in kanji while the other looked like a celebration of modern art. She looked up to see that a flock of cranes had suspiciously taken the place of the rest of her writings. It seemed that for Kakashi, her notes were prime material for practicing origami.

"Huh. That's a little better, but you still suck at dodging," Kakashi said.

She was filled with a different kind of frustration—the kind that made her throat tight and her hands ache for something fragile to throw—and she decided that never again would she bother to try to hold a serious conversation with Kakashi.

The door supporting her back fell away quite suddenly. Then she was lying on the floor and looking up in surprise at Sakumo. His head was far away for he was a very tall man. Oka-san appeared around the corner and peered down curiously at Nezumi.

Nezumi scrambled to her feet. "Where is Daddy?" she demanded.

"Oh, he went to bed. He has an early shift at work tomorrow so he needs to get some rest," Oka-san replied lightly. Then to Kakashi she apologized, "I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to eat, Kakashi-kun. I packed some _pee-chaw_ for you. Don't worry about getting fat! You need to be big and strong if you want to be a good ninja like your father."

Oka-san's voice fell to a stage-whisper. "And you don't have to use those silly chopsticks. You eat it with your hands! How cool is that!"

Kakashi's half-lidded stare conveyed just how thrilled he was to be the recipient of Oka-san's hospitality.

Then, the Hatake were gone and Nezumi was hurried through her evening hygiene rituals even though it was nowhere near her bedtime. The lights were turned off and Oka-san tucked her in with a quick kiss.

But as soon as Nezumi started drifting off, her caretakers' angry voices filtered through the thin walls. Nezumi curled herself into a ball and drew her covers over her ears. The sounds persisted. She tossed and turned and contemplated risking Oka-san's wrath for the sake of turning on her bedside lamp to distract herself with a book. This was quickly becoming a part of her nightly ritual.

The tension rose and started to weigh down heavily upon her. The unease she felt amplified the roiling current of her chakra and a pressure rose in her stomach. She knew that the pressure would eventually turn into a terrible pain so she forced herself to relax and recall the exercises that Jiraiya had taught her. With deep breaths, she focused on the trajectory of her chakra flow and mentally traced its path. She reached over to grab one of Kakashi's cranes. It took a good deal of conscious effort for her to direct her chakra flow to keep the crane attached precariously to her forehead. But in exchange for her troubles, the pressure in her stomach slowly subsided, along with the angry sounds of arguing…

* * *

Kakashi promptly dropped the packaged leftovers in the trash once they got home and scampered off in the direction of his room. Sakumo could only watch him go—his body didn't seem inclined to do anything but collapse. The post-mission fatigue he'd hidden for dinner suddenly flared up insistently. There was a deep ache reaching down to his very bones that spoke of chakra exhaustion. His eyes were painfully dry and he felt grimy even though he had showered before dinner. Everything hurt and he wanted nothing more than to sleep it all off.

Right now, he just didn't have the energy to deal with the burgeoning juvenile delinquent he'd spawned. If he tried, there was a good chance that he'd simply faint. Bed first. He would chew Kakashi out tomorrow.

On his way up, he noted that Pakkun's water bowl was empty. Sakumo grumbled under his breath and simply added it to the growing list of Kakashi's crimes. But as soon as he stepped into the bathroom, an uncomfortable wet sensation met his unsuspecting foot and seeped into his sock. A flick of the light switch revealed a puddle of yellow liquid on the linoleum floor. Kakashi was completely potty-trained—at 12 months, he'd flung off his diaper and declared independence of diaper rash. And in any case, the puddle wasn't anywhere near the toilet. Pakkun, on the other hand...

His fatigue was forgotten in favor of his sudden frustration. He threw his soiled socks angrily into the laundry hamper. "Kakashi!" Sakumo yelled.

There was no response. So he stormed off in the direction of his son's room and barged in. The door banged loudly off the wall and Kakashi threw him a reproachful look from his seat on the floor. His canine companion laid its head on its paws and cowered guiltily.

"Did you walk Pakkun today?" Sakumo asked.

Kakashi plucked moodily at a loose patch of carpet.

"Did. You. Walk. Him." Sakumo repeated with gritted teeth.

"...No."

"You promised me _you_ would take care of Pakkun. And do you remember what happens if you don't?"

Having picked away all the loose fibers in the carpet, Kakashi looked away and began fidgeting with the dog's collar.

"Look at me, Kakashi," Sakumo warned. "What was our deal?"

Kakashi peeked at Sakumo briefly and then went back to the dog. There was an angry red flush climbing up the boy's exposed face and his mouth contorted as he bit his lip. "You'll take Pakkun back to the shop," he admitted.

Then the full meaning of his admission must have dawned on him for he finally looked up at Sakumo with wide, panicked eyes. He started blinking rapidly and the teeth worrying his bottom lip picked up pace. "But you made me clean the living room all by myself! And then we went to Nezumi's house! And you were busy and I'm not allowed to walk Pakkun by myself! Don't return Pakkun!" Kakashi rushed through his words frantically, his voice rising in both volume and pitch until he ended his plea on a desperate whine.

Perhaps Kakashi's words would have been better received by a well-rested Sakumo. But right now, all Sakumo heard was Kakashi's blatant disregard for others and his inability to keep promises.

"And why did I _make_ you clean up the living room?" Sakumo asked, refusing to cave in to the puppy eyes staring up at him imploringly.

"I... I was practicing! How am I ever supposed to be a ninja if I don't practice?!"

"Practicing? You _destroyed_ the living room and used up all our chopsticks." Sakumo waved Kakashi's protestations away with a hand. "No, I'm talking. You destroyed the living room, you put Team Jiraiya and Nezumi in danger, and you were so disrespectful and rude at dinner. That's not how I raised you!"

Kakashi looked miserable with his arms wrapped around his knees. His lips began to quiver and he turned away.

Sakumo leaned down and settled on his knees. "I'm very disappointed with you, Kakashi."

At those words, fat tears rolled down Kakashi's cheeks and he buried his face in his arms. The faint sounds of Kakashi's sniffling struck a painful chord in Sakumo, and he almost reached over to console Kakashi before he caught himself. It pained Sakumo to see Kakashi hurt in any way.

But as difficult as it was, Sakumo remained distant and resolute as Kakashi curled into a tight ball that displayed the quiver in his shoulders accompanying each hitched breath. The dog, feeling its owner's pain, whined plaintively and shuffled around Kakashi, looking for a way in.

Finally, when Kakashi managed a few clean, unhitched breaths Sakumo announced, "Next time we see Nezumi, you're going to apologize. Properly. Okay?"

Kakashi mumbled, "'Kay."

"And you're going to write sorry to everyone in Team Jiraiya. Okay?"

"'Kay."

Sakumo studied the little ball of sadness before him and sighed. He asked not unkindly, "So what should we do about Pakkun, Kakashi? How can I trust you to keep our promise when I'm the one feeding him and walking him and cleaning up after him?"

Kakashi's response came in the form of a muffled whisper that even Sakumo, with his enhanced hearing, was hard-pressed to interpret.

"What was that?" he prodded.

Kakashi lifted his head, revealing swollen, red eyes. "Don't take Pakkun away," he begged. "I don't have anything else."

Sakumo furrowed his brows. "What do you mean? You have plenty of things. You have your books and your toys," he protested unconvincingly.

"You're never home and I'm so bored all the time." Kakashi hugged Pakkun defensively, not seeming to notice the snot dripping on the dog's fur.

Sakumo swallowed dryly. It was true that he'd picked up more missions recently in light of the recent skirmishes near the border with Cloud. But it was also true that in these past three years, he'd neglected his professional duties in favor of keeping Kakashi alive. By now, Kakashi had probably escaped death about a hundred times for all of Sakumo's talent in childcare. And truth be told, Kakashi's latest exploits proved that Sakumo _still_ had trouble managing just one three-year old.

To be sure, these were real problems. But, in the end, it would be a tragic reprise of Sakumo's own unfortunate childhood for Kakashi to grow up alone and neglected.

So Sakumo made up his mind. "Here's what we're going to do, Kakashi. I'll try—no, I'm _going_ to be home more and you're going to make good on your promise to take care of Pakkun, okay? That means that _you're_ going to have to pick up his poop when _you_ walk him. I know you don't like it, but the village likes it even less and the Uchiha police will come after you if you don't follow the rules."

Kakashi looked up at him hopefully and the discomfort in Sakumo's chest eased just a little. "Really? Will you teach me ninja stuff then? Can we train? Can I practice with real weapons? I promise I won't hurt anyone, I promise! And I'll stay out of the living room, I promise!"

Sakumo couldn't stop the downward slope of his lips and Kakashi's tentative smile began to follow suit. His mind superimposed a Leaf headband and standard-issue gear on Kakashi's small body and he breathed in deeply to quell the sudden nausea. Sakumo had seen children ripped apart on the battlefield. He'd seen children succeed against all odds and rise through the ranks—he himself was one of those children. But Kakashi would be different. Already, the higher-ups were sniffing around Kakashi who'd inadvertently revealed his genius one day when he'd casually crawled up a tree to retrieve his kite. At the age of 2. They saw Kakashi as the scion of the Hatake Clan, pure potential to be molded into the perfect soldier. But Kakashi would be different. There would be no war for Kakashi, no killing, no death.

"Why do you want to be a ninja, Kakashi?" Sakumo asked in the most neutral voice he could muster.

"I… If I'm a ninja, I won't have to stay home by myself. I can go on missions with you."

The ache in his chest was back. Sakumo searched for a way to tell Kakashi about the awful truths of the shinobi world without ruining his innocence. "Kakashi, people don't become ninja to take missions. It's something that we do, yes, but it's not everything."

He reached over to pull Pakkun out of Kakashi's hold so that he could have the boy's full attention. "I'm going to start teaching you about being a ninja because it's something you want to do and because I think it's important for you to be able to defend yourself. So here's your first lesson. As a ninja, you _protect_ something really special. Our missions are about _protecting_ the village and everyone in it. A good ninja completes his missions, yes. But the best ninja protects his teammates and his loved ones. For example, I take missions because I want to protect _you_. You're the most important person to me and I want to keep you safe. Ninjas protect. Do you understand?"

Kakashi nodded emphatically, his eyes wide. It wasn't entirely clear whether or not he had comprehended anything beyond Sakumo's promise to teach him, but it was a start. He lunged in for a hug that knocked the breath out of Sakumo. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! I won't let you down, Dad, I promise!

Sakumo returned the embrace, ruffling Kakashi's hair and patting his back reassuringly. "You'll be a good ninja, Kakashi. You remember what your name means?"

"Uh... I scare birds?"

Sakumo smiled into Kakashi's hair. "Close, but not quite. Hatake Kakashi. You're the scarecrow in the field. You keep the enemies out of our land. Get it? You'll be a great ninja and make your mother proud."

On his end, Sakumo intended to equip Kakashi with the best possible tools to succeed. He would raise Kakashi to be strong to avoid being exploited and manipulated. He would raise Kakashi to be his own person, to think for himself. Sakumo wanted Kakashi to know that to be a ninja didn't necessarily equate to being a killer. He wanted Kakashi to grow up not on the battlefield, but in a loving home amidst friends and family. He wanted Kakashi to know that human beings were _people_ who couldn't be reduced to numbers and affiliations. Kakashi would be different.

* * *

As it turned out, the day's events had taken a lot out of Kakashi and it didn't take long for him to fall asleep. He did his best to stay awake and to keep chattering excitedly about all the cool jutsu he wanted to learn, but his words began to fall out as incoherent mumbles and his heavy eyelids got the best of him. Once Kakashi's breathing turned deep and slow, Sakumo eased his arm out from under the boy's head and slipped out of the room. Before leaving the house completely, he performed a jutsu much abused by every shinobi parent, leaving behind a clone to monitor Kakashi in his absence. As much as his body wanted to sleep, his mind refused to comply so Sakumo decided he might as well go investigate the curious case of Fujiwara Akira.

More often than not, Sakumo refused to go to the hospital, opting instead to get his physicals and exams from the combat medics while he was out on the field. He went only in the most dire of circumstances and found it difficult to take even Kakashi to the pediatrician.

But he was troubled by the news of Akira's illness, and even more so by the medication that supposedly treated it. There had been some faint rumors alleging some questionable medical practices on civilians. Sakumo had kept an ear to the ground in an effort to track down the sources of these rumors. But each rumor had been quelled swiftly and silently, and that was even _more_ questionable. Such efficiency suggested the interference of the Intelligence department. This in turn entailed a violation of the Civilian-Shinobi Contract.

These rumors had started spreading after Tsunade had stepped down from her position at the hospital and out of Konoha. Her absence was understandable given her celebrated service in the war—many veterans had retired from active duty and a good number had left Konoha to settle in the neighboring villages in Fire Country. Yet, it was also true that she had mothered and abandoned a newborn hospital just learning how to walk. The subsequent power vacuum had threatened to shut down Konoha's biggest source of revenue and latest claim to fame. And no one—not even the venerable Biwako-sama—could claim Tsunade's level of expertise _and_ her skills in leadership and administration. Eventually, the Hokage had vetted and installed one Tanba Yasuyori as Chief Medic, presiding over all the proceedings of the hospital.

His position did not mean that his talents were on par with Tsunade's, but Tanba Yasuyori was a man of considerable skill, especially in regards to medical knowledge and ninjutsu. He was also the doctor who had delivered Kakashi. And now, he was Akira's doctor.

Tonight, Sakumo had finally seen in Akira evidence of shady dealings in the Tanba administration. He could think of no compelling reason why Akira would be taking as medication the very _poison_ Sakumo dipped his senbon in. It was a nasty poison whose delayed effects tricked many enemy ninja into believing they were above a small graze from a senbon. But over the course of a few days the poison worked through the body, paralyzing the limbs and making its way to the lungs. Once incapacitated, the victim would suffocate slowly to death. So why in the world would Akira be taking it as _medication_?

It made Sakumo sick to think that an esteemed doctor such as Tanba Yasuyori would exploit a man's ignorance _and_ charge him such exorbitant fees. He knew that the Fujiwara often struggled to make ends meet even though Kotone was loathe to admit it—lately, she seemed to be a permanent fixture to the missions desk as she loitered around looking for work. Sakumo hadn't thought he would need to protect Konoha from its own, but he couldn't sit idly by and allow such injustice to occur.

The rooftop avenues allowed him uninterrupted access to the heart of Konoha where the hospital shined brightly, projecting a white light through the night sky that seemed to attract all of Konoha's bugs. Sakumo grimaced as he made their acquaintance and kept his mouth shut to avoid further interaction with them. He passed by underneath a large spider sucking one of its many victims dry. It seemed to sense Sakumo's surveillance and paused briefly to leer at him with eight glittering eyes.

As he made his way through the hospital, he made an effort to breathe through his mouth. Sometimes, when his insomnia got the better of him, he'd lie in bed assaulted by the smell of lemon-scented cleaner that had somehow managed to invade the light fragrance left in Miyako's old clothes.

He came to a stop in front of Dr. Tanba Yasuyori's office just as Orochimaru stepped out the door. Orochimaru was a remarkably confident man by nature, but tonight, he seemed inordinately pleased with himself. Sakumo inclined his head in greeting, intending to go through, but Orochimaru lingered in the doorway.

"Sakumo-san, how are you this fine evening?" the Sannin asked with a wide smile.

"I'm very well, thank you," Sakumo said pleasantly. He motioned to the door. "Is Dr. Tanba in?"

"I'm afraid you just missed him. How is your son? Kakashi, is it?"

"Oh, he's good. Well actually, not _that_ good, but he's trying," Sakumo replied vaguely.

"I see. Jiraiya was just telling me about what a talented little boy Kakashi-kun is," Orochimaru said, not seeming to notice Sakumo's restless fidgeting.

"Yes. Well, you know what they say. The young eclipse the old. Soon, the new talent will take over and we'll find ourselves out of jobs."

Orochimaru nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he said, his smile growing wider. There was something strange in his eyes that raised the hairs on Sakumo's neck and Sakumo fought the urge to reach for his shuriken pouch.

"Well, I can see you're busy," Orochimaru said graciously. "I'll be on my way."

As he watched Orochimaru walk away, Sakumo eased back into a casual stance and told himself that it was just the hospital's exceedingly bright lights that had placed the predatory gleam in Orochimaru's eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling that there had been something _off_ about their exchange. But nothing the Sannin had said or done was out of the ordinary; it had just been a typical conversation between two colleagues who didn't know each other well. His unease wasn't helped by the fact that there were privacy seals plastered all over the hospital that blocked his sense of chakra and exacerbated his claustrophobia.

He bookmarked the conversation for later perusal and entered Dr. Tanba's office at last. His eyes were immediately drawn to the state-of-the-art safe in the corner of the room. A closer look revealed that it was in fact the very model favored by the Intelligence department for its "anti-ninja" locking mechanism. "Anti-ninja" usually didn't mean anything more than an orange sticker placed on merchandise to assuage civilian customers, but in this case, it meant that the safe wouldn't respond positively to anything but Dr. Tanba's chakra.

Unfortunately, Sakumo couldn't force open the safe without tripping the hospital's very sensitive alarms, but he could surmise that Dr. Tanba was hiding in his office something far more important and valuable than syringes and oxygen masks. And what exactly had Orochimaru been doing here at such a late hour?

The papers on the nearby desk featured handwriting most assuredly belonging to the doctor for they were simply undecipherable. But scattered throughout was a stack of colorful brochures.

"The Organ Donor Program," Sakumo read aloud. "Are you having trouble finding work? Have you been denied at the missions desk? Join our program and enjoy competitive pay and 6 months of free healthcare…"

He flipped one open and saw cartoon diagrams explaining the procedure in detail. Painless, harmless, and for a good cause. Apparently, donating a kidney was like donating a pint of blood. An image of a sad, sickly child on the left was juxtaposed with a happy, healthy child on the right holding a sign that read, "Over a thousand lives saved!"

Sakumo tucked one away in his pack and swept his eyes over the room, looking for anything amiss. He absentmindedly thumbed through a journal sitting nearby and squinted when he realized the handwriting, though small, was _legible._

It was Orochimaru's tight, neat handwriting that showed the latest results of the Organ Donor Program at Konoha Psychiatric Center. Each donor's name was accompanied by a status and an occupation. Sakumo recognized a good many of these names. There was Watanabe Sanosuke, an explosives expert— _terminated_. There was Yoshida Ichiro, a young genin who'd lost a leg while serving in Sakumo's squadron— _terminated_. There was Sanada Kenko, a truly excellent cook who had once brewed a delicious snake wine— _terminated_.

Of 130 donors, 114 were retired veterans. Of 114 retired veterans, 76 were listed as _terminated._

Sakumo set the journal down slowly with trembling hands and tried to calm his rapid heartbeat. Painless, _harmless_ , and for a good cause. He scanned the list again.

 _Harmless_. Terminated. _Harmless._ Terminated. _Harmless_. Terminated.

Of 130 donors, 76 had been _terminated_. The case fatality rate was more than 50%.

The smiling child on the right said, "Over a thousand lives saved!" For a thousand lives, how many had _died_?

Sakumo snatched up the journal and walked out of the hospital in a daze. _76_ _terminated_. He swatted robotically at the mosquitoes flying into his face. Yoshida Ichiro had been nine, ten years old? If the war hadn't taken his leg, he might have been one of the many teenagers seen loitering around the shopping center, soliciting alcohol and cigarettes from those legally capable and dressing outlandishly to demonstrate individuality. Sakumo had last seen Ichiro on a pair of crutches, pleading earnestly at the missions desk to a bored chuunin. _Terminated_.

He passed the same missions desk now and stared blankly around at the empty room. How many people came here to be denied of work? Were they desperate enough to literally sell their bodies?

A dim sliver of light indicated that Hokage-sama was still in his office. Before Sakumo could knock, Hokage-sama called out, "Come in."

"What can I do for you, Sakumo?" Hokage-sama asked.

Sakumo set the brochure and Orochimaru's journal on the desk and waited as Hokage-sama studied them.

After a moment, Hokage-sama closed the journal. He steepled his fingers and looked at Sakumo expectantly. "Explain."

Sakumo had expected righteous anger, not this bland reaction. It was late. Surely Hokage-sama was tired and had misread the evidence. "The Organ Donor Program—" he began.

"—Yes, yes. It's quite a success," Hokage-sama nodded. "We've seen a tremendous increase in revenue. People from all over the world are coming in. New businesses are flocking, old businesses are booming. I must say, I'm very pleased with the results."

"No sir, these results…" Sakumo opened the journal and ran his finger down the list of names. "Konoha Psychiatric Center has seen more than _50%_ of its donors terminated. Sir, this is terrible."

"Terrible how? They're paid handsomely for their donations. They know the risks."

"But sir, this program takes advantage of the unemployed and the disabled. Surely this is unethical—"

Hokage-sama cut him off with a wave of his hand. "This isn't the time for one of your principled stands, Sakumo. An organ donor has a far better rate of survival than a genin competing in the Chuunin Exams. Donating a kidney has better odds than going on a B-rank mission."

"But sir, do these donors really know the risks?" Sakumo picked up the brochure. "This says nothing about the fatality rate. And are the patients at the psychiatric center _capable_ of making informed decisions?"

Instead of answering, Hokage-sama simply peered past Sakumo's shoulder and said, "Enter."

Sakumo turned as Tanba Yasuyori came in.

"Hatake-san," the doctor greeted with a tight smile. "I'm sorry to have missed your visit."

Dr. Tanba bowed deeply to Hokage-sama and paused as he straightened. "Oh yes, I was looking for that," he said, picking up the journal. "And you were kind enough to present our new brochure to Hokage-sama. Thank you Hatake-san. What do you think?"

Sakumo returned a brittle smile. "It's terrible," he said.

"Ah." The smile slid off the doctor's face. "How so?"

"This is exploitation. The patients at Konoha Psychiatric Center are patients at Konoha Psychiatric Center because they no longer have the ability to care for themselves. They need round the clock care just to keep from harming _themselves_. And yet, 130 patients at Konoha Psychiatric Center have apparently decided to donate their organs."

"Hatake-san," the doctor said slowly, "I can assure you that we received the consent of each and every one of our donors."

Sakumo raised an eyebrow. "Please forgive me doctor, but I don't think you fully informed these people of the risks involved. And if you did, I don't believe that they _understood_ what exactly would happen to them. This is unethical. This is _wrong_."

Dr. Tanba huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "I'm afraid it's _you_ who doesn't understand. This is a breakthrough in medical science—"

"—Yes, that may be true," Sakumo interrupted. "I'm not a doctor like you and I'm certainly no scientist. I might not understand your procedures and experiments, but I know—I _knew_ those people. The men I knew would never have agreed to something so... _cheap!_ They were honest men who worked for everything they had. They had their own hopes and dreams for the future. They were so much more than their organs and they had so much left to do. You're playing god with human lives and you're lying to yourself and your patients if you think this is the best thing to do. What you're doing is _wrong."_

"Okay then. Let's try to make you understand," the doctor said with a grim smile. He folded his arms and examined Sakumo. "Imagine that your wife or someone dear to you is terribly sick. She's in constant pain, she isn't herself, and she can't even get up to use the bathroom. She's hooked up to all these machines and she makes these awful wheezing noises when she breathes."

Sakumo's throat constricted. The doctor continued painting a scene so vivid and evocative that Sakumo could almost reach out and feel the dreadful _cold_ in Miyako's lifeless body.

Dr. Tanba seemed immune to his own craft and continued tightening the noose around Sakumo's neck. "Now, can you imagine knowing that there is _a cure_ to that sickness and being unable to have it just because someone says it's wrong? Can you imagine how heartbreaking, how disgusting that would be? Tell me. How is it wrong to raise the quality of life for those who are suffering? How is it wrong to save lives?"

The doctor paused to give Sakumo a derisive look. "Well, maybe _you_ can't imagine. How could a man with no family understand something like that? We're at a stage in medical science where we can cure cancer and syphilis and all those nasty things you ninja brought back with you from the war. How can _you_ ask us to go back to the old ways? What we're doing is—"

A beeping noise interrupted the doctor's speech and he pulled a pager out of his lab coat. He waved it at Sakumo, saying, "As much as I'd love to continue this conversation, I have some business to take care of."

The doctor bowed deeply to Hokage-sama and then swept by Sakumo with purposeful strides. But on his way out, he hesitated in the doorway and seemed to deflate. His precise, clinical anger was overridden by a more appropriate bedside manner and his next words were colored by regret. "I realize I was insensitive and rude and I apologize. I care deeply about my profession and I find it difficult to take criticism."

He turned fully to face Sakumo and met him eye-to-eye. "Your judgment comes from an ethical standpoint that we medical professionals rarely stop to consider. The triages, the double, triple shifts, losing patients and having to inform their families— _those_ are the things we consider most. And when you're eating soldier pills for lunch in a bloody operation room during your 48-hour shift, you lose sight of abstract concepts like _right_ and _wrong_."

The yellow light cast by the lamp produced a jaundiced complexion in the doctor's unshaven face which became more pronounced as he ventured further away. "Hatake-san, you have a good point, you really do, and we need people like you to keep us in check or we'll just run wild. But this program achieves miracles and it lets those poor souls _do something_ with themselves. Hatake-san, I believe you did know those people at one point, but I don't think you know what sad creatures they had become. We receive so many of our donations from Konoha Psychiatric and the veterans' home because the patients there have nothing more to do with themselves. It's a noble thing. They save the lives of others instead of wasting their own."

The pager interrupted with dogged persistence and Tanba-san gave a rueful smile. "I really do have to go now. But please consider what I said."

He shut the door behind him, leaving Sakumo with the Hokage.

Hokage-sama lit his pipe and sighed. "There will come a day when you are forced to see the bigger picture, Sakumo. And when that day comes, you will have to make a decision between your own beliefs and the needs of the people you serve."

"With all due respect, Hokage-sama, the two are the very same. My beliefs and my people are one."

Then Sakumo bowed deeply and left the room.

"It's a pity," Hokage-sama said, scanning the contents of the brochure once more. "He's a fine man and an excellent shinobi. But he can only see trees where there is a forest. And Konoha is a very large forest indeed."

"Very good, Hokage-sama," came a voice from the shadows.


End file.
